Harry Potter and the Return of the Heir
by Ty5
Summary: It's Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. What seems like is going to be a mournful and boring school year with Ty gone, Harry is in for a surprise when he comes face to face with the last Heir of Slytherin (and it's not Lord Voldemort). UPDATED! (Dec. 5)
1. Background information IMPORTANT! and di...

BACKGROUND INFORMATION: It is Harry's fifth year at Hogwarts. He and his friends are in all the same classes as they are in the 4th book. There's a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher named Professor Sarah Manell. She is a great teacher and knows her stuff, unlike Lockhart. She is young (29 years old), nice, friendly, and likes to have fun. She is serious about DADA when you have to be. She has long brown hair to the middle of her back. It curls in at the ends. She has brown eyes and is 5'9 1/2". She came in Harry's second year and hasn't left since (so technically, she's not new). She's very helpful and is closer with Harry, Ron, and Hermione than any of her other fifth years. In Harry's third year, a new girl came to Hogwarts. She came from France, although she was born and raised in New York City, New York (USA). She speaks with an American accent (but not a strong New York accent-lost most of it as she grew up and lived in France). She is the adopted daughter of the richest Muggles in the world: Monica and Dean Wilkins. Her name is Tyra-Lyn Wilkins. She has long, straight golden blond hair, ice blue eyes, and a big white-toothed smile. She is 5'10 1/2". She is 17 years old and was in her last schooling year when she arrived at Hogwarts. She was ahead of her class at Hogwarts anyways because at her old school in France (Abra's Academy for Privaledged Witches and Wizards)they start at 9 years old instead of 11 years old like Hogwarts. The reason Ty was transferred to Hogwarts was to protect her (and everyone else) because she is Lord Voldemort's daughter. Although she (and everyone accept the Hogwarts professors and the Headmaster at Ty's old school) never knew about it until she got to Hogwarts. She and Oliver Wood became a couple and she replaced Angelina Johnson on the Gryffindor Quidditch team (just for that year) because Angie had to leave school (to take care of her sick grandma). Ty made friends with lots of people from all different houses (including 3 students from Slytherin). She became very good friends with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Oliver (of course!), Fred, George, Professor Manell, and Professor Dumbledore. At the end of Harry's third year Voldemort, with a borrowed body, came to the school to kill Harry (Ron and Hermione), but Ty came to the rescue. Voldemort told her that she is his one and only daughter and that her name is really Lerissa and that he has been looking for her for years. During the whole school year, Ty had been hearing voices- someone calling for Lerissa-in her dreams. Ty graduated from Hogwarts and came back the next school year as a Teacher's Assistant for McGonagall for Transfigurations (Ty's favorite subject). In Harry's fourth year Ty was McGonagall's assistant and the majority of the school that were once her friends were afraid of her (because over the summer the truth about her being Lord Voldemort's daughter leaked out everywhere!) and so her school year wasn't very good to start off with. Oliver is gone off to play with an amature Quidditch team, but he, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Ginny, Cedric, Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle (and a few odd people and the teachers and staff) are the only ones who aren't afraid of her and are still her friends. (Yes, that's right! You heard me! Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle are Ty's friends...strangely enough. Draco has a crush on Ty. I know, I know...but it's funny!) During the summer she began to remember what her life was like with Voldemort and during school she felt him getting stronger and her Dark Mark on her arm was getting darker. She ends up going to Voldemort to work as a 'go-between', getting information and spying for both sides. The only ones at Hogwarts that knew about this were Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ty. Ty did things for her father (Voldemort) while she was pretending to be on his side. Ron and Hermione began to think that Ty was on Voldemort's side and didn't know if they should trust her. She brought Voldemort Harry and he and Harry fight and Voldemort was about to kill Harry (while Ty stoond back and watched) and then Ty jumped in the way to push Harry out of the way of the curse. Ty dies. (It's sad, but it's true.) Ron and Hermione went to Dumbledore to tell him their plan and he came in (with Ron and Hermione) and saved Harry. Cornelius Fudge was there with 2 Dementors, who took Voldemort's soul and dragged him off to Azkaban. They had a memorial service for Ty at Hogwarts, giving her (and Harry maybe Ron and Hermione too, I'm not sure yet) The Order of Merlin, First Class and Oustanding Services to the School (and later gets an award for bravery named after her). Lucious Malfoy, Dean and Monica, Oliver and his parents, the Weasleys, and the rest of the school are there. She was then taken to France to have a burial service with her Muggle family members. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco go to the Muggle funeral. (Yes, Draco goes!) And that is the end of Harry's fourth year.  
  
(DISCLAIMER: The only characters that are mine are Dean Wilkins, Monica Wilkins, Ty Wilkins, Sarah Manell, Mr. Webster, Mr. Archer, and any other characters that are not in any of the Harry Potter books. All the others that are in the Harry Potter series are NOT mine!) 


	2. The Dig

****

Harry Potter and the Return of the Heir

By: Ty

Graveyard. Paris, France. July 28, 1999. Night time. 

Five hooded and cloaked men, all in black, stood around the same grave. Two of the men were tall and broad and digging down deep into the earth. A third man, average in every way, stood watching the two big men dig. He, too, had a shovel, but he was leaning on his next to a pile of dirt, holding up a lantern so the diggers could see what they were doing. Another man, tall and slim, stood next to a short, paunchy fellow, both watching the diggers. The only light that could be seen came from the three lanterns at this grave. One was in the hand of the average man, the other two were placed at each end of the grave. All was silent, except for the sound of shovels flinging dirt.

The short man turned to the taller one.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" he asked in a cowardly voice.

"Of course it's going to work," answered the tall man rather annoyed.

"I just have a bad feeling about this. What if someone catches us? M-Muggles do horrible things to anyone who is caught disturbing a grave."

"Well, then, keep your voice down and we won't be caught. You don't have very much faith in our plan, do you?" replied the taller man even more agitated. 

"I'm just afraid someone's going to see," added the short man in a squeaky voice, looking behind himself paranoid.

"Eventually-that-is-the-point-Wormtail!" said the tall man slowly, pronouncing each word carefully.

"R-right," agreed the short man. He fell silent.

"Have you found it yet?" hissed the tall man to the two diggers.

"We're almost there," replied the one working closest to the headstone.

"Well, hurry up! We don't have all night."

There was a soft _thud _as the digger at the head of the grave put his shovel into the dirt below.

"Lucious, I've found it!" he called to the tall man, who quickly came over to the grave when he was called. Wormtail followed.

"Light!" Lucious demanded. The average man who was holding up a lantern, handed it to Lucious. Lucious held the lantern down into the grave over the spot where the digger had made the thud.

What looked like smoothed red colored wood was showing from under the dirt.

"Good," replied Lucious, thrusting the lantern back to the man, who was still leaning on his shovel. "Now hurry up and clear the rest of this dirt. I want that casket out now!" Lucious spun around on his heels, followed by Wormtail, and went back to his place of watching.

"Soon, Wormtail, all our problems will be over," whispered Lucious in a cold, dark tone. "We will have a new master now." Lucious gave a small, evil laugh, which matched the evil smirk on his face.

The two diggers worked frantically to clear the rest of the earth off the coffin. The average man watched the dirt pile up around him. One of the diggers threw a pile of dirt from his shovel next to the average man. The man noticed something in the dirt. He bent down, picked it up, and dusted this strange object off. It was a patch from a piece of clothing. A gold lion was centered on a scarlet and gold shield. He examined it. Rendering it useless, he threw it aside. The patch landed at Lucious's feet. Lucious's attention was distracted from the diggers by the scarlet and gold patch. He bent down and picked it up. A sneer swept across his pale face. Lucious knew exactly what this object was and who probably put it there. He dusted the rest of the dirt off of the patch and, laughing coldly to himself, he pocketed the patch. He knew that this patch could come in handy.

"M-Master Lucious," squeaked Wormtail, tugging on Lucious's cloak, "they're finished!"

Lucious looked up to where the two diggers were now somewhat unsuccessfully climbing out of the grave. The average man put down his lantern to help his fellow comrade out of the grave. Wormtail quickly ran over to help the other burly digger.

"Excellent!" hissed Lucious to himself, in a cold and wicked whisper. The lantern lights flickered in his grey, stone eyes as he approached the grave from amongst the shadows.

Lucious reached deep into another pocket of his black robes and pulled out a long, thin, carved piece of wood.

"Wands out," he instructed.

"But-but, what if someone sees?" added Wormtail hastily.

"Then we'll kill them," hissed Lucious, gritting his teeth at Wormatil. "Then we'll have someone to replace the body." Wormtail lowered his head and took out his own wand. The others followed. The five of them pointed their wands down at the coffin six feet below and muttered "_Wingardium leviosa_!"

The red colored coffin began to vibrate and the ground beneath the men's feet began to tremble. Slowly and carefully, as the coffin broke away from the dirt surrounding it, the five men stepped backwards, allowing the casket to rise from the depths below. Bits of loose earth slipped off the brilliant reddish coffin and the light from the lanterns reflected off its gold handles, made the ambiance even more ominous.

The five men walked beside the coffin as it floated easily in the air. The average man broke away from the rest of them to open the back of a large black van. He magicked a dark brown casket from the back of the van and placed that into the grave, replacing the original red one. The others placed the red coffin into the back of the van and closed the doors. The two large men came back over to the grave and took up their shovels once again. This time the average man joined in. The three of them began shovelling the dirt back onto the replacement casket, while Wormtail helped Lucious make sure everything was secure with the van.

It took the three men about half the time to fill up the grave as it took them to dig it up. Finally when they were done, they made sure the grave looked the same as it had before they arrived, so the grave wouldn't rouse any suspicion.

"Finished," said the average man to Lucious, who was watching them intently.

"Good," Lucious replied, settling the matter. "Crabbe, Goyle!" he called to the two largely built men. "Wormtail, you're driving."

"Y-yes, Lucious," agreed Wormtail. He quickly got into the driver's side of the van. The average man slid open the side door and stepped in, his shovel in one hand and the unlit lantern in his other. Lucious waited for Crabbe and Goyle. Goyle wiped his sweaty forehead on the sleeve of his robes before picking up the second lantern by the foot of the grave, blowing it out, and walking to the black van with his shovel. Crabbe made some last minute touches of cleaning up any leftover dirt with his wand before bending down to pick up the last lantern that sat next to the headstone. For a brief moment, the inscription on the headstone could be seen. It read:

****

Tyra-Lyn Anastasia Ora Wilkins

June 21, 1981 - June 20, 1999

__

She loved and was loved and shall now be missed forever.

Crabbe hoped into the back of the van, right after Goyle, and slid the door shut. Lucious took one look back at the grave before getting into the passenger-side.

"Ready?" he asked Wormtail sternly, who was sitting at the steering wheel looking nervous. 

"Y-yes," Wormtail yelped. Lucious took out a shiny gold pocket watch and watched the small hand tick by. The time was almost two o'clock in the morning. The small hand clicked closer to the twelve.

"Three-two-one-" counted Lucious as the time on his pocket watch changed to two o' clock. Immediately, as the time had changed, the black van whooshed away into thin air.


	3. The Rising

The black van arrived outside a cold, stone, small castle in North-western England. Two other black hooded and cloaked men stood outside, flanking each side of the wooden door to the castle. The two men noticed the large, black van and went over to it; to help the others unload their cargo. They carried the coffin, again, by magic up to the wooden doors and into the castle. The man known as Wormtail stayed behind so he could get rid of any evidence-meaning the van. He magicked it into nothing and headed in after the others.

Inside, the castle was dark, old, and very bare. A dozen or so cloaked men were scattered throughout the castle, waiting for the men to return with the casket. And, finally, they had arrived.

"It is time," whispered Lucious to a cloaked man, who was wearing a frightening mask. The man bowed his head and left to gather the others.

Lucious, Crabbe, Goyle, Wormtail and the average man took the casket down into the dank basement of the castle, into a unique circular room. Across from the entrance stood a huge, empty, stone fireplace protruding from the wall. On the left of this fireplace was a wooden door; hidden, almost, by the size of the fireplace. And dead in the centre of the room was a plainly carved sacrificing table made out of marble and raised, just so, off the ground on a matching platform. The five men placed the casket gently on top of the marble table.

"Is everything prepared?" Lucious asked the average man.

"It should be. I'll go check," replied the average man and then he left.

A few minutes later, the average man returned, followed by all the other cloaked and masked men. The average man was carrying an armful of things: black candles, potion bottles, wood bowls, flowers, bundles of strange colored grasses and leaves, and two necklace crosses. Behind him, one of the other men was carrying five gruesome masks. He stood patiently behind the average man, while the others gathered around the front of the table with the, now, open casket. He handed Crabbe, Goyle, and Wormtail their masks as they passed him. The average man handed the supplies he was carrying to Lucious. The two of them began setting up the room for the ritual. They covered the remaining floor with the white and black petals from the flowers. Tall, lit, black candles hovered inches from the floor. Six small wooden bowls were strategically placed around the room, fitted with smoking leaves and grass. One bowl was on each end of the platform; two were placed on the left side of the room, in front of the gathering of men; and the last two were placed on the right side of the room, in front of the remaining men.

Lucious and the average man continued with their preparations. They scattered oil and potions around the room, chanting quietly to themselves, sprinkling some on the ones sitting in the front rows. Lucious speckled the remaining oils onto the dead blond-haired girl's body in the coffin. He placed one of the elaborately jewelled gold crosses, the smallest of the two, onto the top of the girl's chest, so that it rested comfortably on her sternum in between the ribbons of her Order of Merlin: First Class medallion. He and the average man joined the others, taking up their masks and placing them over their faces. The average man took a spot in the front next to Wormtail and Lucious took the centre.

Simultaneously, the lot of them knelt down and bent their heads down, resting in prayer-like meditation. Lucious held up the bigger cross, identical to the one resting on the dead body's chest. And then he began…

"Accendo omnipotens luna caelum.

Promitto robur procello audio vox.

Vocis fidelis servus voco accendo sepulchrum.

Exorior pneum aevum validus 

animus, corpus, anima 

emergo vindico mors patris transporto inimical Abyssus.

Infandum validus Domina domna caliga emergo exanimus somnus.

Adeo declaro iuste locus apud populus acquiro repedo auctorial captus.

Pareo ut nutus emico aduro aevum adeo

imperium mundus Infinitas infinitio

exitium pluvial concido incresco discrepo.

Emergo acerbus Domina dormna!

Emergo! 

Emergo! 

EMERGO!"

During Lucious's incantation, clouds of smoke began to emit from the jewel in the centre of his cross. The smoke floated over to and built up over the coffin into dense storm clouds of swirling and twisting black, purple, and grey. Lightning streaked and thunder clapped from the clouds. The more powerful Lucious's words became, the more powerful the storm became. There was another fork of lightning and the deafening sound of thunder. The fork of lightning got closer and closer to the dead body in the coffin, as Lucious continued his spell. When he ended with his last "EMERGO!", a bright streak of blue lightning struck the centre jewel on the blond girl's cross. The black candles flickered out. The lightning bolt shot life back into the dead body; her eyes shot opened and she gasped for air.

And as fast as it had begun, the storm subsided. The candles that hovered slightly off the ground relit themselves, revealing the room of cloaked men and the coffin. Lucious fell slightly forward, catching himself by placing a hand on the floor. He put the hand that was still holding the cross to his forehead. He took a moment to compose himself. He put the cross, who's jewel in the centre was now broken, around his neck and stood up to go and see if the ritual worked. 

The ritual had indeed worked. The girl inside the coffin was breathing; her eyes open wide to the world. Lucious peered in at her. She jumped, frightened.

"Shh…shh…" Lucious hushed as he put a hand down on the girl's forehead. He stroked her hair gently and spoke to her as if she was a child awaking from a bad dream. "That's it. Come on," he said, encouragingly, as he helped sit her up. The golden cross on her chest fell into her lap as she sat up, leaving a red burn where it had been touching her skin during the resurrection.

Lucious let go of the girl once she was sitting up, only to catch her again as she fell backwards. Obviously, she had not regained her strength. "Soon," Lucious thought to himself, "she will be even stronger than she's ever been."

Lucious scooped up the newly resurrected blond-haired, blue-eyed girl and brought her down the walkway split between the masked men. They bowed so low that their foreheads nearly touched the hard stone floor. Lucious placed the girl on a marble throne that stood behind all the men in the back of the circular room. The men kept their heads down as they turned themselves around to face the girl on the throne. Lucious took his place in front of the others and bowed his head.

"Welcome back, my lady. The Death Eaters await your first command," Lucious spoke in an obedient hiss. The girl just sat on the throne, confused, looking as if she was about to pass out.

She sat there for awhile, her head lolling around. She was stiff and weak. She looked out over the sea of black to where her casket lay, solid and empty, on the marble table.

"W-where am I?" she croaked, looking around the shadow-filled room. Lucious quickly ran up to her side and crouched down by her throne. He slid his mask off his face and onto his head under his hood.

"You're in your new home," replied Lucious gently, moving a piece of hair out of her eyes.

"Home?" she exhaled. "Home?" She tilted her head to look into Lucious's pale, pointed face.

"Malfoy?" she breathed. "Lucious?"

"Yes, my lady. I am here to serve you. What is your will?"

"I-I don't understand," said the girl. He closed here eyes and turned her head back against the throne. "A dream…a dream…" she whispered to herself, rocking her head back and forth.

"This is not a dream, my lady. This is real. Everything around you is real. _You_ are real!"

"What?" the girl jerked, opening her crystal blue eyes to look upon Lucious's cold, grey eyes.

"You're alive!" he replied. She took a moment to reflect on what he just said.

"Alive?" she repeated, breathlessly.

"Yes, alive! I brought you back, my lady- from the dead. You're alive!" The girl looked down at her right hand. It twitched. She tried to lift her arm, but it felt so heavy. Lucious took her hand in his and brought her hand up to her face; to touch her face with the back of her hand. He did the same with her left hand. She put her two hands out in front of her to admire them. She wiggled her fingers slightly.

"I'm alive!" she whispered in amazement. "But why?" She shot a baffled look at Lucious. 

"To-er-avenge your father," he replied somewhat unsure if he should. He bowed his head slightly, as if in remembrance; as if the girl's father still held power and deserved their respect.

"My father?…Voldemort?" asked the girl. Immediately after she said his name, a name most wizards and witches, even his own supporters, feared to speak, the cloaked men gasped and lowered their heads further to the ground.

"Master!" they all muttered. Even Lucious Malfoy.

"W-where is he?" asked the girl weakly. She groaned in pain and restlessness.

"He's in Azkaban, my lady," answered Lucious nervously. He was afraid that He Who Must Not Be Named's daughter would not respond to this statement lightly, nor understand, meaning he would have to explain what happened to her father. And this was something he didn't want to have to do. But it had to be done.

"He was administered…the kiss…by the Dementors, my lady." He gave the girl a minute to let this sink into her brain, watching her blank face for a sign of sadness or anger, before he continued. "Right after you were killed by Harry Potter. Albus Dumbledore and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, came with the Dementors and ruined your father…right then and there. Now he lays in Azkaban…" Lucious stopped, bowed his head, and said winded, "…soulless…for all Eternity."

There was complete silence as all the Death Eaters reflected on this horrible tragedy.

"Lucious, why am I here?" said the girl, groaning and raising her voice, and then coughing from the strain. This girl, the one and only daughter of the worst magician of the century, had not spoken, nor moved, for three months. She found the most trivial of things, like blinking her eyelids, to be energy draining.

Lucious looked up at her, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of anger, at the fact that his master was gone; satisfaction, that he had brought his master's daughter back; and excitement, for all the wonderful things to come.

"You are here, mistress, to take your place amongst you're people; to take vengeance on those who have hurt you and your father; and to restore the name of Salazar Slytherin to power again. You are our new master now and we are here for you; to do your bidding; to help you in your quest for revenge; to help you take back what was rightfully yours; and to help you become the sorceress you should have always been!" Lucious explained, his voice full of excitement, power, and rapture. He waited. He waited for the girl to say something inspiring; to leap up off her throne, or even to smirk a bit, just to show that she understood and agreed with what he had said. But no. The girl stayed sitting. She never spoke, or smiled, or showed any sign of interest. Instead, she closed her eyes and put her head back against the grey marble of the stone throne. Her head squirmed minutely and her fingers moved impatiently. She made small whimpering noises of discomfort.

"Tired…" she whispered, "…so tired…"

"I know, I know," Lucious said soothingly, stroking the side of her face, like a father would to his little girl, and looked at her sympathetically, as if he felt the pain she was going through. He hated to see her like this, he admitted to himself, but there was one thing that the Death Eaters had left to do before they could allow their new master any rest. 

"There's just one more thing we have left to do, my lady." Lucious stood up, moved in front of the girl, and took a few steps back away from her. The rest of the Death Eaters stood up as well. The wave of black cloaks all took out their wands.

"This might hurt…just a little," Lucious assured the girl, a great big snarl on his face.

"**Origoforma**!" echoed the voices of the Death Eaters. A large flash of purple light consumed the room and a deafening scream-a chilling scream-one that made every bone in your body shiver-penetrated the basement walls of the castle. 

But it was one thing that had to be done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thousands of kilometres away, in a little suburb of London called Surry, stood a simple house numbered Four Private Drive. And inside this house was the famous Harry Potter; a boy wizard.

Harry lived with his terrible aunt, uncle, and cousin who were known in the magical world as Muggles (non-magic people). They despised anything out of the ordinary; especially magic. It was because Lily, Harry's mother, Petunia's sister, was a witch. So was Harry's wizard father James Potter. And so, Harry was also a wizard. That meant they dreaded and despised Harry. But it wasn't Harry's fault. He couldn't help it that his parents were magicians, or the fact that he too possessed magical powers as they did. And ever since his parents were killed by the Dark Lord Voldemort, Harry lived a life of ridicule and disrespect with his Muggle relatives, for his own safe keeping. And it was because of Harry's survival from the Dark Lord, who tried to kill him also, that he became famous in the magical world. 

But for Harry, this summer had been the worst summer of his life. Every summer with the Dursleys just kept getting worse and worse But this was the cream of the crop; the worst few months of his life. 

Harry had lost a great friend just three months before fighting against her own father, Lord Voldemort. She had saved Harry's life for the second time; she had saved the whole world against a terrible monster, but at a price of her own…her own life. And every since her funerals, Harry could think of no one else. 

Harry laid, moping , on his bed in his room, his arms and legs sprawled out on his bed. He looked miserable. He felt miserable. Harry sported dark circles under his eyes; radically, dishevelled hair; crooked and taped up glasses (where Dudley had begun his favourite sport of beating on Harry, again); dirty, crooked, and ripped clothes. He looked bored and depressed. Not only did his physical appearance reflect his misery, but his room did also. Paper and books were scattered all over his desk and floor, his clothes were falling out of his closet and dresser drawers, his lampshade was tilted, dust outlined his room, and his bed sheets laid next to his bed in a giant heap. 

It was four weeks after school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would have officially ended, but because of what happened at the end of the school year to one of the teacher's assistants (and Harry's friend), they were all let out of school two weeks early. So it has been six weeks at the Dursley's and Harry hasn't been feeling much better than before he arrived at number Four Private Drive. Neither were Harry's two best friends at Hogwarts, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The three of them have been corresponding by owl, hence Harry's bedroom window being open (to let Hedwig in and out), and that was about the only thing that kept Harry from going insane over his relatives' cruelty and the death of his friend. 

"Harry! Get down here!" screamed Harry's Aunt Petunia from the bottom of the stairs. Harry rolled his eyes and heaved a sigh. He sat up and began walking to his door, shuffling his feet so that he didn't step on anything on his floor.

"Harry!" Aunt Petunia screeched viciously from the stairs.

"Coming!" Harry yelled back., rather agitated. Unwillingly, he slumped down the stairs and headed into the kitchen, where he met his aunt, who was looking mighty displeased.

"Explain!" she hissed angrily, holding up a porcelain figurine that was broken into two pieces.

"Explain what?" Harry responded idly, glancing down at the broken porcelain and then back up at his aunt.

"You ungrateful, little-!" his aunt began screaming, but Harry couldn't find out what the rest of it was his aunt was calling him because he was preoccupied with trying to not get hit with shards of porcelain. His aunt began throwing the porcelain pieces at him. Harry ducked and they smashed against the wall behind him.

"After all we've done for you, you go on and abuse our hospitality! We never even wanted you to be here, so don't think you're going to get away with this!"

"I didn't do it!" Harry shouted over top of his aunt's fury.

"Oh, then who did it? Dudley? Dudders is in the living room watching the tele. How could he have broken it, hum? Dudley would have told us. But you! You think that your-abnormality- makes you special; makes you superior to us! But you know what Potter? As long as you exist under _our_ roof, you will **do**-**as**-**you**-**are**-**told**!" Aunt Petunia prodded Harry in the chest with her bony finger several times as she spoke to him. She turned around viciously and went to the broom cupboard.

"I was upstairs in my room. I couldn't have possibly broken it. And besides, my wa-" Harry was about to say "wand", but figured that wouldn't go over well with his already fuming aunt. "My things are in the cupboard under the stairs. I didn't do it! The wind must have blown it-"

"From a closed window? I don't think so, Harry. Considering it's _you_, I wouldn't be surprised. Now clean it up!" Aunt Petunia shoved a broom and dust pan in front of him. Harry took the broom and dust pan, and with a frustrated sigh, he turned to the floor in the kitchen and swept up the debris of porcelain. 

And that's when Harry's aunt had started him on chores as his punishment for breaking her figurine. She got Harry to sweep the rest of the kitchen floor, wash the dishes, vacuum the living room, hallway, stairs, and the upstairs (bedrooms and all). After all that, Harry had to dust the living room and wash all the windows inside and out. It was when he went to wash the windows outside that he wished he was able to use magic.

Harry stood at the base of the house and looked up to Dudley's bedroom window, wondering how on Earth he was going to get all the way up there to wash the windows. And then the most logical answer came to him. Any wizard who lived in the Muggle world knew: use a ladder. So, Harry asked Aunt Petunia to let him into the garage so he could get out the ladder. With a lot of trouble, and no help from his aunt or cousin, Harry managed to haul the ladder out onto the lawn. He dragged the ladder to under Dudley's bedroom window and raised it.

With his rag and window washer fluid, he climbed up the ladder and began washing.

"Mum, I'm hungry!" Dudley's voice could be heard outside from the living room, calling to his mother. 

"I'm busy at the moment, Dudders. Get your cousin to get you a snack. He's outside," Aunt Petunia responded to her son. Harry's cousin Dudley came waddling out of the house to meet Harry on the ladder against the side of the house.

"Mum says you have to come in and get me a snack," he told Harry. Harry turned and looked down at his round, pig-like cousin. 

"I can't right now, Dudley, I'm busy," Harry replied, resuming his cleaning.

"But mum says you _have_ to," Dudley drawled, pouting.

"I'm cleaning, Dudley. Please wait."

"Mum says _now_!"

"Dudley, please, just-" but Harry was cut off by the movement of the ladder. He whirled around to look down on Dudley again, who kicked the ladder stubbornly.

"Dudley, don't," Harry said.

"Don't what? Do this?" He kicked the ladder again. It jolted underneath Harry.

"Dudley, I said don't!" said Harry again, this time feeling worried. Dudley laughed. He seemed to sense Harry's fear because he began shaking the ladder vigorously, back and forth, harder and harder.

"Dudley STOP!" Harry yelled. "**DON'T**!" The legs of the ladder began popping off the ground. Harry grabbed on to the ladder for dear life. Dudley gave the ladder one large and forceful tussle. Harry's feet slipped off the step he was standing on, and in the shock of the whole situation, his hands slipped and he toppled down, landing on top of his fat cousin.


	4. The Rising Continued

"Mummy!" Dudley began to wail in horror. He rolled over and shot up onto his feet like a rocket. "Mummy! Harry tired to kill me!" Dudley ran into the house.

Harry stayed crumpled on the grass, the rag and window washer beside him. He felt a sharp pain in his right wrist. It pricked and twinged and it hurt to move it. Harry tried to get up but his wrist hurt too much. His legs were weak and sore from the crash landing. It felt as if he had been lying there on the lawn forever, but moments after Dudley had fled, Harry's Aunt Petunia came barrelling around the corner of the house, her face scarlet from anger and a rolling pin clutched in her white fist. Harry was already in enough pain, but he was sure that this episode was going to cost him a severe beating. But at that moment, it didn't.

"What are you trying to do to my poor Dudley?" Aunt Petunia said fiercely through gritted teeth. She grabbed Harry' s left arm and yanked him up onto his feet. "Get up! Get up! In the house! In the house!" Harry whined in pain from his wrist, as his aunt pushed him roughly into the house.

"After all we've done for you! We put clothes on your back, food in your stomach, and a roof over your ungrateful, freakish head, and all you do in return is makes things explode, owls everywhere, letting snakes loose in the zoo, and now this! Trying to kill my only son! _Shame on you! _Well, I won't take this any more! No I won't! Wait until your uncle gets home! Punishment! You hear me? **PUNISHMENT!" **Harry's aunt raved on and on, throwing off her apron, coming in and out of the kitchen and living room, and hustling Dudley along like a large pig that had just been shot in the forehead. 

Dudley had a small trickle of blood creeping down his forehead from where Harry's shoe had hit his face when Harry slipped off the ladder. But the cut was hardly anything to fuse over, Harry thought. What was more important was Harry's wrist.

"And now we have to go to the hospital!" Aunt Petunia threw on her jacket, grabbed her car keys, slipped on her shoes, and began shoving Harry and a sobbing Dudley out the door. Harry was glad they were on their way to the hospital, even though the trip was for Dudley, because he hoped that the doctor would manage to get a chance to look at his wrist. Harry looked down at his wrist. It had begun to swell and turn purple. The pain hadn't gone away either. In fact, it was worse. It tingled and throbbed and felt numb; like it wasn't even there at all.

They finally reached the hospital and they walked quickly to Emergency. At first, the administrative nurse wouldn't let them in to see a doctor right away, but after about ten minutes of Aunt Petunia's wailing, the nurse hurried them in to see the least busiest doctor at the time.

When the doctor, Dr. O' Connor, asked how Dudley had received his cut on his forehead, Aunt Petunia shot a sideways glance at Harry, and replied, "A large falling object from a ladder hit him on the head." 

Harry thought it was a bit rich for his aunt to call him large. Her son was the one who was almost as wide as the bumper on a car. 

Doctor O' Connor quickly fixed up Dudley's cut with some antibacterial cream and a band-aid. He then turned to Harry.

"And what about him? Did he get hurt as well?" 

"He's fine," squeaked Petunia, disregarding the nice shade of blue the bruise on Harry's wrist had become. Doctor O' Connor looked down at Harry's arm, which Harry was holding close to himself to support his injury.

"Well, I'm sure he wouldn't mind if I took a look. Do you?" he asked Harry politely, bending down to get a better look at Harry's wrist.

"I think it's broken," Harry replied, holding out his wrist for Doctor O' Connor to examine. The doctor touched it and tried moving his wrist around, to Harry's discomfort.

"Ah, yes! We'll have to get an x-ray for that wrist of yours. I'll go set that up right now." Doctor O' Connor got up, took up his medical chart, and turned to the door. "I'll be just a minute." And he left.

Harry sat back in the chair, relieved that the doctor had noticed his wrist, and excited at the fact that he was now getting an x-ray. He had never received a x-ray before. No matter how many times his cousin bullied him, there was never a situation as bad as a broken limb. But Harry's excitement soon changed to nervousness because both his aunt and cousin were staring at him sourly.

It turned out that Harry did have a broken wrist. The doctor put a cast around his swollen wrist, telling him that he had to leave it on for a month before they could down grade him to a brace. It was a good thing ,for Harry, that he was going back to Hogwarts in little over a month because there, the school matron, Madam Pomphrey, would be able to completely mend it with magic. 

On there way back home to Private Drive, not a word was spoken between the three of them. Dudley was amusing himself in the front seat with a new toy his mother had bought for him to make him feel better. Of course she never bought anything for Harry. According to Petunia and Dudley, it was he, Harry's, fault that Dudley got hurt. 

When they reached Four Private Drive, Aunt Petunia ushered Dudley into the house. She turned her horse-like face on Harry and squinted her eyes displeasingly at him.

"You're no use to me now. Go to your room and stay there until your uncle gets home," she order him.

"Will supper be ready soon?" Harry asked his aunt.

"Supper will be ready by the time Vernon gets home from work. But don't think you'll be getting any of it. You're in big trouble. Deep, serious trouble for what you did to my Duddy-kins." She glanced over at Dudley, who was sitting in the living room again, watching television. Harry saw her eyes fill up with tears. Then, she turned on Harry again.

"Just you wait until your uncle gets home!" she spat at him. "Now, apologize to your cousin." Harry stared at her blankly for a moment, looked at Dudley, and then back at his aunt's stern face.

"Apologize!" she demanded, grabbing Harry by the hair and thrusting him in the living room. Harry winced as a large chunk of his hair was almost ripped out of his head. Harry knew it wasn't his fault Dudley was hurt, but he also knew that there was no point in arguing about it, since no one would believe him anyway.

Harry cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Dudley," he said. But Dudley was too engaged in his television show to notice Harry's apology or care. Harry looked at his aunt for conformation that his apology was acceptable. 

"Room," she barked. Harry followed through with her command and headed up the stairs to his room.

Harry's heart leapt in joy when he entered his room. Hedwig, his snowy owl, had come back! She was perched on the windowsill. Harry walked over to her, stroked the back of her head, and helped her into her cage with his good arm. She made a little squawk as if to ask Harry what happened to his arm. He sighed and explained it all to her. After he finished his story, Hedwig gave an angry snap of her beak and ruffled her feathers. Harry gave her a weak smile, glad that she felt just as annoyed at the Dursleys as he did. 

Harry fell back onto his bed, wondering what he could do. He thought of writing Ron and Hermione a letter to tell them about what happened, but then remembered that he couldn't write. Harry was right-handed and wasn't very skilled at writing with his left-hand. And even if he did try to write a letter with his left-hand, what would be the point of sending the letter if his friends couldn't read his writing. So, instead, Harry stayed on his bed, staring idly up at the ceiling.

Lately, or at least this summer, Harry hated not having something to do. Anything would be better then doing nothing. Even housework. Work kept him preoccupied, so he couldn't let his mind wonder. His mind wondered a lot these days, and it always managed to end up on the same thing: Ty Wilkins.

Almost at the end of his last school year, in May, Ty Wilkins had died. She had only been at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for two years: last year as Professor McGonagall's Transfigurations assistant, and the year before that as a seventh year Gryffindor student. During her time at Hogwarts, she and Harry had become very close friends because they both had connections with the same person; a connection that others just couldn't understand. That person, although he wasn't much of a person then, was Lord Voldemort. He, Harry, had been the cause of the downfall of the Dark Lord and was his greatest enemy. Ty was Lord Voldemort's one and only flesh and blood. Ty Wilkins was Lord Voldemort's daughter. And it was Lord Voldemort who caused his own daughter's demise. 

Last year Ty had found her father and worked as a go-between. She gained back the trust of her father and pretended to spy on Hogwarts and Harry for him, when, in fact, she was spying on _him_ for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. She carried out small tasks for her father and helped nurse him back to health. Ty always had good intentions in mind during this time, although when she brought Harry to Voldemort, Harry wasn't so sure who's side she was on. But after she sacrificed herself to save Harry, it was evident who's side she was really on. With the help of Harry's friends, Ron and Hermione, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, and Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, they defeated the Dark Lord. Now, Lord Voldemort sat in Azkaban, his soul taken by the Dementors; Ty laid stiff and cold six feet underground; and he, Harry, was trapped, sad and lonely, on his bed in number Four Private Drive.

Harry blamed himself for what happened to Ty. If he hadn't given her the idea to find her father and work as a go-between, or even became her friend in the first place, then none of that would have happened. No matter how many times Ron and Hermione had wrote to him, telling him to stop blaming himself, he couldn't help it. Harry was willing to die for her that night. He was willing to die for the world. But Ty had to be the hero. That's how she was. Fix the situation or die trying. It made Harry sick every time he thought about what happened. That's why Harry was extra miserable this summer holiday. And the Dursleys didn't make his life any better, either. They only made him feel worse.

It was an hour later when Harry heard the front door to Four Private Drive open and close forcefully. 

"Petunia! I'm home!" called Harry's Uncle Vernon to his wife. Harry froze still on his bed, eyes wide open. He was definitely in trouble now. 

"Smells good! What's for supper?" Vernon continued his greetings. Harry heard the kitchen door open. "Where's my little Dudders?" Then there was silence. Not a sound could be heard from the main floor. Harry laid on his bed, his heart racing. He bet all his belongings that his aunt was telling his uncle all about Dudley's encounter with Harry's shoe that afternoon. 

It came like an earthquake of magnitude seven. **_"HHHHHAAAARRRRRRYYYYY!!!!" _**rumbled Uncle Vernon's deep voice from the main floor. His large and loud foot-stomps were heard coming up the stairs. Harry's bedroom door shot open like a huge gale had landed on the house. Harry sat up in terror. Never had he seen his uncle this angry before. And Vernon _was_ angry. He was spitting mad-literally. His face was beet red and the veins in his temples were throbbing. He looked like a very large, fat, angry bull, ready for the charge.

****

"WHAT-HAVE-YOU-DONE-TO-MY-SON!" he roared, coming to Harry. "Come here, you ruddy thing! You bloody wanker! You bleedin' berk! Wait till I get my hands on you!" Uncle Vernon made a move for Harry, but Harry's instincts told him to move, and so he jumped off his bed before Vernon could put his sausage-sized fingers around his neck.

"You'll pay for this, you no good prat! Come here, Harry! Come here, NOW!" Uncle Vernon shouted as he chased Harry around the room. Aunt Petunia and Dudley watched on from the bedroom door. Uncle Vernon almost cornered Harry, but Harry slipped out from around his uncle just in time before being squished up against the wall. But there were so many odds and ends on his floor, that, as Harry backed away from his uncle, he tripped and fell to the floor. Vernon grabbed him by the hair and yanked him up. 

"Can't get away that easily!" Uncle Vernon laughed gruffly. "You ungrateful tosser!" Harry went flying onto his bed. "You injured my son! And after we let you into _our_ home, took care of you, kept you **alive**! I've worked day in and day out to put food in your insolent, little gob, and this is the thanks I get! _YOU TRIED TO KILL MY SON!"_

"I never!" protested Harry, shaking his head vigorously. "I swear! It was an accident! Dudley-"

"I DON'T WANT TO HEAR IT! YOU BE QUIET before I rip that tongue out of your stupid mouth! I am so angry with you right now. You have no idea! You can't even begin to imagine! You're in deep trouble, mister! You're to remain up here until I see it fit that you ever return to this family again, you hear me!?" Uncle Vernon shook a threatening finger at Harry, his eyes narrowed in rage. Every time Vernon talked, his face would swell up larger and larger, redder and redder, until it looked like he was about to explode. 

"And no supper for you tonight! Or ever, for that matter! No friends, no magic, no nothing! See all this? This filth?" Vernon pointed to the litter of paper and letters on Harry's bedroom floor. "Garbage!" He took a large armful of papers and took them out of the room. Harry followed him.

"No! _Please _Uncle Vernon! I'll clean them up! I promise!" Harry pleaded with his uncle. It was no use. Uncle Vernon threw the papers and letters over the banister and they drifted helplessly to the main floor. Harry made a break for them, but Vernon fought back. He pushed Harry with all his might back in to his room, practically knocking the wind out of him as he hit the corner of the door frame.

"And no more letters!" Uncle Vernon scooped up Hedwig in her cage. 

"No, Uncle Vernon! Anything but Hedwig! PLEASE!" Harry reached out for her, but Uncle Vernon held him back with one tree trunk arm. He handed the cage with the snowy owl to his wife, who, disgusted by the bird, ran downstairs with her. 

"Kill it! Get rid of it! Do something to get that filthy animal **out-of-my-house**!" Vernon barked. Harry kept shouting and fighting to get to Hedwig. His uncle turned to him, with a snap. He had Harry by the front of the shirt, practically lifting this fifteen year old off the floor.

"You see here, freak! You live in this house; in _my_ house, you will abide by _my_ rules. You do what _I_ say, _when_ I say, and _how_ I say it. Got it? Because if you don't, so help me, it'll be the street for you, boy! I kid you not!" Harry made a sound, as if he was going to speak. Harry felt a slap of heat across his cheek. Harry fell against his bed in disbelief. 

"No more back talk from you, boy! Or you'll get the licking of your life! You can forget about your friends, you can forget about your family, you can forget about school! And that rich, blond twerp of yours, because she's not here to save you!" Uncle Vernon noticed the shattered look on Harry's face. "That's right! You should've thought twice before you tried to kill my son!"

"I never tried to do anything! I was just doing what Aunt Petunia told me to! Wash the windows! I've been doing everything you've ever told me to for fifteen years! It was Dudley's fault his forehead's cut! Not _mine_! It's **never** my fault! He's just a spoiled, fat git!" Harry shot back at his uncle, in blind rage. He had no idea what he was doing or saying, but at that moment it felt so right and so good. Vernon's face fell.

"And you're nothing but a thorn in our side. You're the most despicable thing I've ever laid my eyes on! I'm embarrassed to call you…ANYTHING that happens to associate you no good, blithering arse with us!" And with that, Uncle Vernon slammed Harry's bedroom door.


	5. The Worst Summer in the World

It was the longest and most gruelling three weeks of Harry's life. The first two days after Harry was locked in his room, his aunt and uncle ignored his existence completely. But after Harry kicked up such a fuss and racket; screaming and pounding on the floor because he wanted food and to go to the bathroom, that his aunt and uncle couldn't take it anymore.

"STOP THAT BLOODY RACKET OR I'LL COME UP THERE AND STOP YOU MYSELF!" roared Uncle Vernon. But Harry never listened. He kept up his ranting and raving, trying to scare them with fake spells he made up. "Go and give him some food, for goodness's sake, Petunia!" 

Petunia ran upstairs with a bowl of leftover stew from three days before and some stale crackers. Harry was let out to the bathroom and was given food after that, for the remaining three weeks of the summer holiday. 

The days were passing fast for the rest of the world, but not for Harry. He had nothing to do in his room. Hedwig was gone-where?-he didn't know. So, that meant he had no one to talk to, except himself. There was no way to write Ron and Hermione a letter, nor anyway to send it without the Dursleys finding out. So, Harry was left to entertain himself; to keep himself from insanity. 

He found it hard to control his emotions: anger at his relatives, fear that he'd never be let out of his room, loneliness with out his friends, sorrow for the death of Ty, and shame for not trying hard enough to prevent all of the events that had happened these past few years. Harry often spent time mumbling to himself, thinking out loud, pacing back and forth in his room. His words were never loud enough for his aunt, uncle and cousin to hear, but loud enough for Harry to hear what he was saying to himself. It was either that, or try sleeping. But every time Harry closed his eyes, his thoughts went to what his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, were doing right now. He figured that they were enjoying their summer vacation ten hundred times more than he, Harry, was. Ron was probably de-gnoming the gardens; the least favourite of his chores to do, or practicing Quidditch with his twin brothers Fred and George. Hermione was probably curled up in her room, enjoying a new book she had bought to read that summer, or shopping for new clothes with her parents that loved her so much. Harry never had fun or felt loved during the summer with the Dursleys. The only time he felt as though he belonged and was cared for was at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. But he wouldn't be attending school this year; not if he was locked up in his room come September first.

It was the night of August fifth; seven days after Uncle Vernon made Harry a prisoner in his own room. Harry laid down on his bed. His uncle had bared up the window and placed a lock on the door that Harry could not get at. There was a little sliding door toward the bottom of Harry's door, where his aunt would slide his food through. Harry was looking much worse then he had before he was shut up from the rest of the world. From his lack of sleep, and the distress he was in, the dark circles under his eyes turned into black bags under his eyes. Harry looked considerably older then he usually looked; not the way a fifteen year old should. Harry had turned fifteen without even noticing it. As usual, the Dursleys had forgotten his birthday completely. But Harry, himself, had not been concentrating on what the days were, so his fifteenth birthday came and left as if it was any other day of the year.

It was considerably late and the Dursleys were all in bed and asleep. Harry laid awake on his bare bed. His blankets were still in a heap on the floor by his bed, but his pillow was flung across the room, from where he had thrown it during his temper tantrum. He was _so _tired. He desperately wanted to sleep, but the notion of returning to his nightmares prevented him from any night's sleep, let alone a good night's sleep. He desperately wished that someone would come and rescue him. Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore-even Malfoy. Anyone would do! But nobody had any idea that there was anything wrong. He thought that maybe Ron or Hermione would figure something was not right since they hadn't received a letter in a long time, and that their letters, in return, weren't being received by Harry. It was wishful thinking. Nobody was going to save him. 

Harry's eyes were growing heavier and heavier by the second. He couldn't take the fatigue anymore. The pain was too much. Harry closed his eyes and immediately fell into a deep, relaxing sleep. 

The instant relaxation was as if Harry was transferred into a different world. His body had felt as if it had left his mind. He found himself floating. He drifted up and up and up until he was placed gently at the foot of a large headstone. He laid there, motionless, for a moment, still sleeping. His eyes flickered open. He looked around to see where he hand landed. It was a graveyard; dark and desolate. Smoke was floating eerily through the air. Harry shot up into a sitting position. "What am I doing here?" he asked himself. "Where exactly is 'here'?"

Harry looked ahead, to the headstone across from him. He slowly and cautiously got to his feet and walked slowly up to the headstone. He squinted through the mist to read on the headstone the words:

****

Tyra-Lyn Anastasia Ora Wilkins

June 21, 1981 - June 20, 1999

__

She loved and was loved and shall now be missed forever.

He was in the graveyard where Ty had been buried. He stuttered as a cold breeze blew by. He turned around to have a look at the headstone that he landed in front of. He walked over to it and looked down at the writing:

****

Harry James Potter

July 31, 1990 - May 15, 2000

__

The boy who lived.



A coldness ran up Harry's spine like he had never felt before. Was it true? Had he just read what he thought he read? His own grave! He felt all the life begin to drain out of him and be carried away by the mist. "This can't be real," he thought to himself, as his legs became weaker. "I can't be dead!"

"Do you like it, Harry?" came a soft, and familiar, voice from behind Harry. He spun around in fright to see a young girl, only a few years older than him, standing in front of Ty's grave. The girl had on a full length white dress and her long, blond hair was pulled back halfway to show her face. When Harry noticed the girl's face, he jumped back in horror.

Harry jolted awake, letting out a short, terrified scream. He looked around his room and quickly reached over to turn on his lamp. He sat up and put his face in his hands, trying with all his might not to collapse. Could it have been? Could it really have been? 

He looked around his frazzled room again to make sure that he was safe in his room. His clothes were still all over his room, the bars were still on his window, and Hedwig was still somewhere unknown. Harry was still alive. He let out a relieved sigh and buried his face in his hands again. Cold sweat was dripping off his forehead. "It couldn't be possible," he thought to himself.

"No! No, it isn't!" he whispered out loud. He rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the vision of the girl he had seen in his dream. "She's gone! She _can't_ come back!" Harry kept telling himself this, trying harder and harder each time to believe it. He more than ever wanted to write Ron and Hermione a letter to tell both of them what he had just seen. He ran his fingers through his hair and got up off his bed. He picked his blankets up off the floor and placed them neatly back on his bed, along with his pillow. He walked over to his window and looked out into the empty street of Private Drive. Everyone else was fast asleep, dreaming of good things, getting their rest to start anew in the morning. Harry felt so alone; more alone then he had ever felt in his life. He hated the feeling.

After Ty's funeral, he, Harry, had not shed one tear. Tonight would be the night where all his pent-up sadness would release itself. Harry braced himself against the windowsill with his arms. He bowed his head and closed his eyes. He just didn't have the strength to be brave anymore. He just wanted to be normal; to be where he belonged. He slid down the side of his bedroom wall, under the window, tears streaming down his pale, weak face.


	6. Home

It was the end of August. Tomorrow was September the first; the day Harry would be going back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry under normal circumstances. But these days were not ordinary. They were worst then ordinary days at the Dursleys. They were horrible. He had spent a whole month alone in his room, only being let out to go to the bathroom. His arm was still in a cast from when he had fallen off the ladder washing Dudley's bedroom window. He was supposed to go back to see Dr. O' Connor two weeks ago to get his wrist re-caste, but his aunt wouldn't allow it. She didn't care what happened to Harry's arm. Neither did his uncle or cousin. And it seemed as if Ron and Hermione had forgotten about him too. There had been no letters even attempted to be sent to his house, even though, as far as Ron and Hermione were concerned, they thought all was as well as it could be with Harry. 

Harry's dreams had become less and less severe. That's mostly what he did for the whole month of August. He slept as often as he could-morning or night-because if there was nothing for him to do, then he wouldn't do anything at all. He often wished the Dursleys would just forget about him completely and allow him to wither away and die, but Harry had learnt that wishes don't come true. Or, at least not for him.

"Petunia, I can't stand this anymore," Harry heard his uncle say from downstairs.

"But you said only to let him to the bathroom," came his aunt's reply.

"I know what I said, Petunia, but I can't stand having him here anymore."

"But he's not doing anything."

"He's in the way. No matter where he is in the house, he'll always be in the way. There's only one thing to do." Vernon's heavy footsteps were heard coming up the stairs. Harry's bedroom door opened. "Boy! Get up!"

Harry rolled over and groaned. "Wuyahwun?" he mumbled, fumbling for his glasses on his bedside table.

"Get up and get dressed! We're sending you out of here. I can't stand you taking up Petunia's time. She could be doing something more useful then having to worry about you. Get your things packed, NOW!" Uncle Vernon left, with Aunt Petunia following close behind.

"Are you sure about this, Vernon?" Petunia asked her husband.

"Well, wouldn't you rather be doing something more productive with your time then feeding that git? We'll send him where someone else can take care of him."

Harry rolled over, unwillingly. "What are they on about now?" he asked himself as he pulled himself to his feet.

"Where am I going?" he shouted to Vernon, sleepily, over the banister of the stairs.

"Never mind that! PACK YOUR THINGS!" roared his uncle. Harry jerked awake at his uncle's cross attitude. He sighed and went back to his room. He opened his dresser drawers and pulled out all his clothes, clean or dirty, and threw them in a ratty suitcase hidden behind piles of clothes in his closet. He didn't even bother to fold his clothes. He stopped by the mirror hanging on his wall for a moment to look at himself. He was a state! The whole back of his hair was one giant cowlick. He didn't even bother to fix his hair. He was pale, paler than Draco Malfoy, and he could barely keep his eyes open, or at least that's what it looked like from the large, green bags under his eyes. Harry had lost a lot of weight from being underfed and his pants were falling off, never mind that the pants used to belong to Dudley. 

Harry yanked his suitcase down the stairs, thudding them on every step he hit on the way down. His arms were too skinny and weak to pick up the suitcase. And whatever was going to happen to him, he didn't care. As long as he wasn't at the Dursleys.

Harry met his uncle at the front door. Harry looked down by the door to see a large trunk with the gold letters HP on the front. A broom was leaning against the wall and a bird cage consisting of a large snowy owl was perched on top of the trunk. 

"HEDWIG!" Harry screamed and ran to pick up her cage. Hedwig hooted in happiness.

"Now, now!" hissed Vernon. "Take your rubbish and get in the car. Make sure nobody sees you. Especially not looking like _that_!" He trusted Harry's Firebolt in his face and Harry took it. Uncle Vernon opened the front door and headed for the car. Harry dragged all his belongings into the trunk of the car and got in the front seat. 

"Slouch down! I don't want anyone to see you!" barked Uncle Vernon. Harry did as he was told. He didn't care what his aunt and uncle said or did to him now. He was going back to school; back to Hogwarts and his friends, where he belonged. Harry waved enthusiastically to his aunt and cousin, who were watching from the doorway. He sat far down in his seat, a large grin on his face.

"What are you grinning about? Don't think that you're getting away with what you did to Dudley. When you come back, _if_ you come back, granted someone hasn't killed you by then, you'll be back up in that room before you can curse us with any new trick you learnt!"

Harry only smiled wider.

He and Uncle Vernon had reached Kings Cross in, what seemed to Harry, the longest car ride ever. Uncle Vernon dropped him off on the curb of the train station, and drove off without saying goodbye. Harry didn't care. All he cared about was getting through the barrier to Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters. 

He almost ran with his cart all the way to platforms Nine and Ten, before he realized that he never had a ticket. An owl had come to deliver his letter from Hogwarts a few days ago, but there was no way for the owl to get in, so Harry never received his supply list or train ticket. 

"Well, I'm sure they'd understand," he thought to himself, as he looked up at the clock. Twelve minutes to go before the barrier closed. "I'm sure if I explained it all, they'd let me on the train. They know who I am. They wouldn't kick _me_ off!…Would they?" He stood there, pondering what to do. He looked back up at the clock. He tightened his grip around his cart and stared hard at the brick wall between platforms Nine and Ten. "Well, here goes nothing!"

Harry ran straight for the wall, not taking a backwards glance, or making himself look inconspicuous. The wall vanished and he appeared in the bright sun of Platform Nine-and-Three Quarters. He was back to familiar ground, back with his kind of people, where he should have been his whole life. But under his circumstances, that wasn't the case. 

He directed his cart towards the clean and bright scarlet steam engine. And there in front of him was the exact person he was hoping to see.

"Ron!" Harry cheered, running over to greet his friend. Ron turned his bright red hair to look at him. Ron was standing with his mother, father, brothers Fred and George, and sister Ginny. Hermione was also there.

"Hermione!" Harry called, as he got closer to the lot of them.

"Harry!" Ron half cheered, half yelped. The rest of the Weasleys and Hermione turned to Harry. 

"What happened to you?" Ron winced. He had noticed Harry's cast.

"My goodness, Harry! What happened?" Hermione shrieked, clasping a hand to her mouth. "You look horrible!"

"More like hideous! I know," Harry replied, light-heartedly. 

"What did those Muggles do to you?" hollered Ron, his face turning red from anger. 

"Harry! My dear! Dear, dear, Harry! My dear, sweet child! What have they done to you?" said Mrs. Weasley in horror. Harry opened his mouth to respond, but Mrs. Weasley had him in a huge hug. She began straightening out his clothes and attempting to flatten down his hair. "That does it! Arthur! I'm sending an owl to Albus Dumbledore as soon as we get home! I won't have any more of this mistreatment!"

"Molly-" Mr. Weasley started.

"Look at him! The mess that he's in! Those Muggles are the worst sort! I will not have our Harry staying with them any longer! No new clothes, no new school supplies, skin and bones! Harry what did they feed you, if they fed you at all? But don't worry, I'll have you staying with us from now on. I don't care what anyone says. Magic or no magic! That house is not safe for you, no matter how many spells Headmaster Dumbledore has placed over it! It's **not safe**, I tell you! So you just get on that train and have something nice to eat-"

"But I haven't-" butted Harry, but was shortly cut off by Mrs. Weasley.

"Ron will give you his sandwich. I never made extras, I'm sorry."

"No, really, it's okay! I survived-"

"Yes you did, didn't you!?" gushed Mrs. Weasley, hugging him again. She kissed Harry on the head. "Ron will give you his sandwich."

"What will I eat, then?" retorted Ron.

"You don't need food! You've eaten more food this morning then Harry probably had all summer!" snapped Mrs. Weasley. "And besides, you don't like roast beef! Arthur, give Harry some money so he could buy something decent on the train to eat." Mr. Weasley took out a few silver Sickles and placed them in Harry's hand.

"No, really, Mr. Weasley, I don't need-"

"Oh, yes you do!" hissed Mrs. Weasley defensively. "Take the money and don't worry about it. I'll have that letter to the Headmaster before the train arrives at Hogwarts."

"Molly, you better hurry up. The train's about ready to leave," added Mr. Weasley, motioning over to the scarlet train. It's pistons were hissing and it's large whistle blew.

"Hurry, kids! Get on the train!" Mrs. Weasley hustled her four children onto the train, Hermione following close behind. Mr. Weasley pulled Harry aside for a moment.

"Harry, you be careful and take care of yourself," he said sternly. Harry never had time to respond. He was quickly being pushed onto the train by Mrs. Weasley. "Now go."

"You take good care of him, Ron!" Mrs. Weasley shouted after the train. Her children and Hermione had their heads out of the train windows.

"Don't worry mum, we'll take great care of him!" shouted George.

"I said RON!" Mrs. Weasley screamed. 

The two of them stood on the platform with the other magical parents, and waved their children out of sight. Mrs. Weasley placed a worried hand up to her mouth and turned to her husband.

"I really hope he'll be okay," she said about Harry, tears filling her eyes.

"He will. Don't worry. Ron and Hermione are there with him. They'll all be fine," Mr. Weasley replied soothingly. He pulled him wife into a hug. 

"I hope you're right Arthur."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked back to their compartment on the train and helped Harry put his trunk, suitcase, and broom away. The three of them flopped back onto the seats; Hermione and Ron across from Harry. They looked at him with interested concern. Harry noticed their stare and felt very awkward. He averted his eyes out to the passing buildings of London. At last, he couldn't take their looks and turned to his friends.

"What?" he asked them sheepishly. Ron had his mouth open.

"Harry, I can't believe you survived! I mean, look at you!" he said in astonishment.

"I'm quite aware of what I look like, Ron. You don't have to gawk, you know. It's the Dursleys, what did you expect?" replied Harry, a little irritated.

"Yes, but you've never came back to school this off. They really did something horrible to you, didn't they?" piped Hermione, her voice full of concern. Harry heaved an agitated sigh. He looked at his best friends. He told them about the accident with Dudley and the ladder, how the Dursleys locked him in his room, how they took away his things, that's why he couldn't write them, how they threatened him about not letting him return to Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron's jaws were to the floor.

"I knew they were awful, but I had no idea!" spat Ron disgusted. 

"That's horrible, Harry!" added Hermione. "I was going to write you, but then my parents went away on a dentistry conference and I was staying with my aunt and uncle. I didn't think it was appropriate to send a letter by owl or even by Muggle mail, because I figured your aunt and uncle would burn the letter instead of giving it to you. I am so sorry, though! I should have wrote!"

"Yeah, same here, Harry! I should have written to you too, but we just got so busy. Family came to visit for the reunion and it was one hectic month!" apologized Ron.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault. You were busy. It's fine. What happened happened, and there's nothing we can do about it now. So, Ron, you said you had a family reunion? What was that like?" Harry said, adverting to a more pleasant attitude.

"Don't change the subject!" barked Hermione. "We're concerned for you, Harry! This can _not_ continue! The way the Dursleys treat you! It's despicable!"

"Everything should be fine now, though!" added Ron smiling. "I bet mum sent her owl to Professor Dumbledore and he should get it before we reach Hogwarts, so you'll be staying with us now, Harry! It's loads more fun than staying with those horrible Muggles! Now I'll have someone else to help me de-gnome the gardens!" This made Harry smile. Unfamiliar territory for him these past few months. It felt good to smile. It felt good to be away from the Dursleys. And the prospect of living with the Weasleys made Harry soon forget about his troubles on Private Drive.

"So, tell me all about _your_ summer?" he asked his friends light-heartedly changing the subject.

The three of them sat in their compartment, talking about Ron's and Hermione's summer. They laughed and joked the whole half of the trip before they were greeted by Ron's older twin brothers, Fred and George, and his younger sister Ginny.

"Hello, there you lot!" cheered George, as he took a seat next to Harry.

"Mind if we join you?" asked Fred.

"Absolutely!" agreed Harry.

"Fine, then. We'll leave," said Fred in mock disappointment. He and George began to leave.

"What are you doing?" jumped Harry, pulling at George's robes. "We want you to stay!"

"Oh, we thought you meant 'absolutely…leave!'!" said Fred. He, George and Ginny took a seat with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

"So, what have you been talking about? Those horrible Muggles of Harry's?" asked Fred grudgingly.

"No! And Harry doesn't want to talk about them!" barked Ron spitefully. He crossed his arms and gave his brothers a triumphant look. Fred and George looked at each other.

"Anyone for a game of Exploding Snap?" asked George excitedly. Harry smiled.

"Definitely!" 

So, from then on, for the rest of the trip, the six of them played countless games of Exploding Snap, anticipating their arrival at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

As darkness fell, the Hogwarts Express slowed down as it approached Hogsmeade station. All the students were dressed in their fresh new robes, all except for Harry. He hadn't had the chance to visit Diagon Alley to buy any new school supplies, so he had to wear his school robes from last year. He looked down at himself, feeling awkward and stupid, because his robes were too short and too big.

Feeling excited, all the students jumped off the train, leaving their things behind to be taken in to their dormitories for them. Harry heard Hagrid, the school gamekeeper, call the First Years over to his way, so he could take them across the lake to Hogwarts in enchanted boats. Harry looked over to him.

"'Ullo, there, 'Arry!" called Hagrid, beaming.

"Hey, Hagrid!" Harry replied, waving. He desperately wanted to run over and give Hagrid a big hug and tell him how much he missed him, but the crowd of students were pushing so much to get to their magic, horseless carriages, that Harry drifted away with them. He thought to himself, that he'd have to make a priority to see Hagrid later.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville Longbottom climbed into their usual horseless carriage. Harry looked up at the stars above him and all around the village of Hogsmeade. He was finally where he belonged. He was home. 

It was a solemn journey up to the stone gates of the castle. Harry looked up into the gleaming turrets and towers of the gigantic school. Hogwarts was alit with all the splendour and beauty (of your night time dreams!) of enchantment. Harry grinned widely.

The carriages came to a halt and the students de-boarded. They made their way up the stone steps and through the large oak front doors of Hogwarts. The blazing light from the torches hit them as they entered the Entrance Hall. They all filed into the Great Hall, where they would take their places at each of their house tables to await the Sorting Ceremony and Welcoming Feast. 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined their fellow Gryffindors at their long house table. Harry sat next to Fred and George and Ginny sat opposite, next to her brother. Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom, two of Harry's friends, flanked each side of the table, while Seamus Finnegan sat next to Dean. Lee Jordon joined them shortly after, sitting next to Ginny, so he could talk to the twins. 

The Great Hall was filled with excitement and eagerness. Harry looked around at the wonderful room, and finally realized how spectacular it really was. It had been wonderfully amazing in his first year there, but it wasn't until this day that he realised how much he took his life and experience here for granted. He was so used to coming to Hogwarts, that he forgot how lucky he was to be attending such a great school with such great people-excluding all the Slytherins, of course. Harry looked up at each teacher at the High Table and grinned as he came to each. He frowned, though, when he got to Professor Snape. As great as Hogwarts was, it would do the school even more justice if Snape wasn't their Potions Master. But, soon after, Harry's attention left Snape to the seat next to him, he frowned even more. The seat was empty.

"Doesn't it feel like something's missing?" pondered Ron, almost sensing Harry's unhappiness. Ron and Hermione both looked at Harry and then to the empty chair at the High Table that he was looking at.

"Oh, right," gulped Ron guiltily. He and Hermione bowed their heads.

That empty seat that Harry noticed was, last year anyway, taken up by one of their great friends. Ty Wilkins was an assistant for Professor McGonagall in her Trangfigurations class. But Ty was dead now, so she wouldn't be attending the Welcoming Feast, nor any other part of Hogwarts. Harry took a deep, comforting breath, and continued down the line of teachers. His brow furrowed as he looked next to Ty's empty chair. Professor Manell, the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, usually sat in between where Ty and Professor McGonagall would sit. But tonight, she was not there. In her place was a somewhat older man then Professor Manell, but still young, sitting next to Professor McGonagall's seat. He was completely normal looking. Brown hair and brown eyes. He wore robes of navy blue and a black wizard's hat, with a velvet navy blue band just above the rim of his hat. There was nothing different or strange looking about him. Harry found him to be completely average in every single way. But why was he here?

"Where's Manell?" Harry questioned Ron and Hermione.

"What? She's not here?" responded Hermione surprised. She and Ron looked up at the High Table. And sure enough, Harry was right. There was no Manell, just some mystery man.

"Do you suppose he's our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor?" inquired Ron, looking perturbed.

"I think so," said Harry.

"I wonder what happened to Professor Manell? She didn't get sacked, did she?" added Hermione, concerned for their professor.

"I'm sure the Headmaster will explain it all," Harry reassured his friends. "At least I hope so."

The Hall fell silent. Everyone in the Hall turned their attention to the doors to the Great Hall. In walked Professor McGonagall, followed by a hundred new and scared-looking students. They followed the Deputy Headmistress up to the front of the High Table and stopped abruptly, shaking from nerves from head to toe. Atop of the platform that the High Table stood on was a small three-legged wooden stool and an old, tattered wizard hat: the Sorting Hat. Professor McGonagall pulled out a long piece of parchment that held all the names of the new First Years. 

The Sorting hat gave a spectacular new and original song about the four magicians that created Hogwarts. The Great Hall erupted with cheers as the Hat finished. Professor McGonagall unrolled the piece of parchment and began reading off names. Each name of the student that she read out took a seat on the stool and was sorted into his or her house. Each house cheered as another student was added.

After about a half an hour, Professor McGonagall finished with the Sorting Ceremony. She rolled up her parchment and took the stool back to a room behind the High Table. She joined her fellow staff members. Professor McGonagall taped the side of her glass to get the students' attention. The Great Hall once again fell silent. This time it was the Headmaster who stood up.

Harry noticed that Professor Dumbledore did not look quite his usual chipper self. The mysterious twinkle in his eyes had faded. He bowed his head and clasped his hands remorsefully. He looked across the sea of black robed students.

"All of you who had attended Hogwarts last year and have come back for another year know that we have lost someone dear to our school and our hearts," Professor Dumbledore began softly. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as well as all those around them at the Gryffindor table, knew exactly who the headmaster was talking about. 

"Some of you may have known her far better than others, but I know that she had an impact on all of us in some way or another. I know that she will be greatly missed. For those of you who do not know who I am talking about, her name was Tyra-Lyn Wilkins and she was a magnificent witch and a dear friend. I feel that it would be respectable of us all if we would give her a moment of silence as to reflect upon her wonderful spirit and strong will."

Professor Dumbledore bowed his head. The teachers followed and so did the students. Harry could feel pain rising up into his throat from his heart. He tried with all his might to hold back tears. He could feel the sadness all around him from each student and teacher.

"Thank you," continued Professor Dumbledore, raising his head. The others returned their attention to him. "And now I have a few important announcements first before the feast begins. First, I would like to say that there has been a new award added to the trophy room of the school. It is called the Tyra-Lyn Wilkins Award for Extreme Bravery Under Extreme Circumstances. It is in honour of Ty's unmistakeable act of bravery under a very uncertain situation. For all you who don't know, Ty died for us all at the end of the last school year. She fought against Lord Voldemort and in the end…" Professor Dumbledore never finished his sentence. He bowed his head slightly. Harry assumed it was to compose himself. Professor Dumbledore and Ty had been uniquely great friends ever since Harry's third year at Hogwarts. They spent countless hours drinking tea, talking, and playing chess up in Dumbledore's office. It was very unusual for a professor to have such a bond with a student, but Ty _was_ special. She was Lord Voldemort's daughter and was sent to Hogwarts to be protected from harming others and herself. In the end, she was harmed. She was killed by her own father. Lord Voldemort never meant to kill his daughter, but it was Ty who had ran in front of the Killing Curse to knock Harry out of the way. Instead of Harry receiving the curse, it was Ty who got it straight in the back, dieing instantly. A true act of bravery and selflessness.

"So," Professor Dumbledore continued, "I am happy to award such an honour to one of our very own students. The first one to receive the Tyra-Lyn Wilkins Award for Extreme Bravery Under Extreme Circumstances goes to a wizard who displayed the greatest strength and power of courage against the same dark wizard. Please give a round of applause to Harry Potter."

Harry had been hanging on to Professor Dumbledore's every word, but when his name was called, everything seemed to go silent. But on the outside, it was quite the opposite. All the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs, and most of all, the Gryffindors screamed and applauded their hearts out for Harry, standing on their seats to get a better look at him. Even the Professors (yes, even Snape), were clapping viciously. Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't hear, or see, or feel. His whole body had gone numb. He won an award for the death of a friend. He didn't know if he should feel honoured or hurt by this action. But he knew that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't have done a thing like this if he hadn't meant it to be a good thing. 

Harry was slapped back to reality when Ron gave him an excited pat on the back. 

"Go on, Harry!" he cheered in Harry's ear, pulling on his robes.

"Get up there!" hooted Hermione, tears filling her eyes. Harry was being pushed left and right, lifted up, and tousled back and forth. Some other sense in his body took over, causing him to walk awkwardly up to the Head Table, where Dumbledore stood, holding out a large silver plaque mounted on a redwood backing. Ty's favourite wood. Mechanically, Harry shook the Headmaster's hand, taking the plaque with his other one. Professor McGonagall reached over and shook his hand vigorously, tears streaming down her face. Many of the other teachers shook his hand and patted him on the back. Hagrid even gave him a back-breaking hug. Harry wasted no more time up at the High Table. He scrambled back to his seat at the Gryffindor table and shrunk low in his seat, still receiving congratulations from friends and peers nearby. 

A long time after Harry had received his award, the cheering ceased. Professor Dumbledore held up his hands, a small smile across his face. 

"And now for some more good news," he added. "If you haven't noticed already, Professor Manell is not here this evening. And she shall not be returning for the remainder of the year. She has some personal matters to attend to at home. So, in her place is Professor Webster, you're new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher." Professor Dumbledore motioned a hand to the man in navy blue robes. Professor Webster received vague applauses from most of the First Years, because all the other students were stunned. Professor Webster didn't look like he noticed the lack of excitement at all. He merely glanced around the room, then back to Dumbledore, and nodded in thanks. Harry looked over to Professor Snape to see how he was taking the news. Snape's brows were furrowed and he glared at Professor Webster, anger in his eyes, as usual. It was strange to see Snape looking so angry over the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor this time, because for the past two years, he hadn't given Professor Manell one sour look. Only on her first day did he loathed her, but since then, the idea that she wasn't leaving any time soon caused him to overlook her presence. But now Manell was gone, leaving the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts to Professor Snape; the position shortly being filled by Professor Webster. 

"I look forward to you all learning from Professor Webster's expertise. And now, at last, we eat." Professor Dumbledore opened his hands as if he was presenting something to the students, but instead, the golden plates and goblets filled with food and drink. 


	7. Home Continued

The food had never tasted so good to Harry. He lived for a month on stale bread and cold soup, just enough to keep him alive. But tonight's feast truly was a feast. Mashed potatoes, corn, peas, beans, carrots, chicken, steak, Sheppard's Pie, black forest ham, salads of every kind, followed by puddings, cakes, and pies of every flavour. There was enough pumpkin juice to drown the whole castle. Out of all the students and teachers in the room, Harry was probably the one who ate the most of everything! After his fifth plate full, he sat back, too full to move.

"You alright, there, Harry?" asked Ron, somewhat amused at Harry's race to be the first one finished. "You certainly ate a lot, even after all the sweets we ate on the train."

"Leave him alone, Ron. He hasn't had proper food all summer," defended Hermione. 

"I know, Hermione. I didn't mean anything by it. I just thought it was funny that he was the first of-" Ron looked around the Great Hall "-any of us to finish. And he had _five_ helpings! I'm afraid, Harry, that you've turned into a mini me!" 

Harry smiled.

"Well, I'm done too," added Ron, sitting back and patting his stomach. He let out a large belch.

"RON!" Hermione gasped. Ron smiled at Harry and they laughed. 

After all the students and staff members had finished eating and all the plates were cleared, the Prefects lead their houses up to their dormitories.

"Alright, you lot!" Hermione called down the table to all the First Years. Harry and Ron looked at her confused.

"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry asked her. Hermione grinned. 

"I'm showing the new students up to the Gryffindor Tower."

"That's great, but isn't the prefects supposed to do that?" Ron suggested. Hermione smiled bigger. She reached into the inside of her robes and pulled out a small silver badge. Harry and Ron looked at it.

"Yeah, so? You have a badge," started Ron. 

"Don't you see, Ron!" Harry shouted, staring in awe and excitement at the small silver badge. "Hermione's-"

"A Prefect!" blurted Hermione, finishing for Harry. Ron's jaw dropped.

"W-what?" he stumbled.

"I made Prefect! I received my owl this summer, but I didn't want to say anything to anyone until we got to school. Surprise!" Hermione flashed her white teeth, pinning the badge onto the outside of her robes. Harry and Ron stared in shock. Hermione's face fell.

"What? You didn't think I would make it?" she questioned her friends, disappointment in her voice.

"Of course we did!" yelled Harry and Ron at the same time, coming back to reality.

"Who else would they get to be Gryffindor's prefect? You're the best student in this school! I wouldn't be surprised if you made Headgirl!" hollered Ron, excitedly.

"The only reason we were…well…speechless is because you never told us! We hoped you would become Prefect, and now…you are!"

"Congratulations!" cheered Harry and Ron, hugging her. Hermione's face went slightly pink.

"Thank you!" she chirped, her proud smile on her face again. "Well, I must go and do my first _official_ Prefect duty!" Hermione turned to the scared group of First Years.

"One thing, though," added Ron, pulling Hermione toward him. "Just don't be like Percy, okay." Hermione rolled her eyes and left her two friends. 

Still shocked, Harry and Ron made their way up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. They stopped dead in front of the portrait of the fat lady in a pink dress. She guarded the entrance to Gryffindor. Harry looked at Ron.

"Hermione never told us the password," he said.

Ron thought for a second. "You know what, you're right. She never did. She's not a very good Prefect, is she?" retorted Ron, disappointed at the fact that they'd have to wait for Hermione to arrive before they could enter their tower. 

"What's the password?" Harry asked the Fat Lady.

"I'm sorry, dear, I'm not allowed to tell you," she replied sternly.

"What!" barked Ron. "Why not?

"I'm not allowed to tell you," the Fat Lady repeated. She began to fan herself idly. Ron looked frustrated at Harry. 

"I hope Hermione comes soon," hissed Ron, crossing his arms and leaning against the stone wall.

Soon after, Hermione's aristocratic voice was heard coming up the stairs. Twenty five intrigued eleven year olds were trailing close behind her. She smiled at Harry and Ron when she spotted them in front of the Fat Lady.

"And this is the Fat Lady," Hermione continued to the students. "She is the guardian of the Gryffindor Tower. In order to get into our Common Room and up to your dormitories, you must say the correct password to the Fat Lady and she will let you in. The password for this year is _Seeker_."

Harry and Ron threw their hands up into the air and rolled their eyes in agitation. How simple! And obvious.

"You do not tell this to anyone who is not in Gryffindor," Hermione continued, ignoring her friends. "No one else is permitted entrance into our tower, unless you are with them. But, preferably, only Gryffindors are allowed in this tower." She turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She motioned Harry and Ron aside. Reluctantly, they moved. Hermione stepped up to the portrait.

"Password, please," said the Fat Lady.

"_Seeker_," said Hermione. The Fat Lady swung her portrait aside to let the students in. "This is our Common Room," Hermione continued her tour. "This is the only place where both the boys and the girls can interact for homework or studying-"

"Or games!" added Ron. Hermione shot a displeased look at him. The First Years giggled. Harry and Ron smirked. 

"The boys dormitory is up the stairs and to your left and the girls are to the right. Your belongings have already been brought up to your designated dormitories. Congratulations on becoming a Gryffindor-"

"The best house there is!" interrupted Ron again. Hermione inhaled, but didn't look at them. She smiled at the giggling students. 

"And welcome to Hogwarts! Have a good nights sleep. Classes start at eight forty five tomorrow morning. See you tomorrow!" Hermione moved to let the new students pass to go up to their dormitories. Harry and Ron moved closer to Hermione, sneaky grins on their faces.

"What do you want?" hissed Hermione.

"We were only trying to lighten the situation, Hermione. You sounded so much like Percy, you know," answered Ron.

"No, I didn't!" jumped Hermione, looking somewhat offended. "I was simply being professional."

"That's what Percy called it, 'being professional'," laughed Ron. "And why didn't you give us the password?"

"I wanted you to wait until I got up there myself, so you could see me in action!" Hermione giggled. "I told the Fat Lady not to tell either of you the password. I told her I'd tell you myself!"

Ron huffed. Harry and Hermione laughed. "Some Prefect you turned out to be."

"I think she did a great job," commented Harry nicely.

"Thank you, Harry," said Hermione, bowing her head slightly in appreciation.

"Look, it's Harry Potter!" a little First Year girl whispered to her friend, a little louder than Harry figured she meant to, because Harry heard her say his name. Harry looked at her. She and her friends were staring at Harry, their eyes adverting to his forehead to catch a glimpse of his legendary scar. The girl gasped and ran away, up the dormitory stairs, her friends giggling and whispering behind her. Ron laughed. Apparently he had heard the girl and her friends.

"Looks like Ginny's got competition!" joked Ron. Hermione laughed and Harry made a chocking sound. 

"I'd say it's bedtime," sad Hermione, changing the subject, still laughing to herself.

"_You're_ really _not_ going to tell _us_ when to go to bed!" said Ron in mock horrification.

"Of course not. I can't make you two do anything that's against your will, can I?" Hermione stated, holding her head up high. "But I'm going to bed. I'm tired. It's been a long trip." Hermione yawned and began climbing the stairs to the girl's dormitory. "Goodnight." 

Harry and Ron hung back for a while, waiting for Hermione to close the girl's dormitory door behind her.

"I can't wait to write mum and dad about this. Percy'll just love it that Hermione's walking in his footsteps," gushed Ron.

"More like dancing!" joked Harry. "Did you see her? She was so…"

"Percy!?"

"Authoritarian!" 

The two of them sniggered into their hands, to muffle their laugh, so Hermione the _Prefect_ wouldn't come down and yell at them. Harry and Ron walked up into their dormitories. Neville, Dean, and Seamus were already in bed and sleeping. Harry and Ron changed into their fresh pyjamas in the dark and slipped into their warm four posters.

"Goodnight, Ron," whispered Harry.

"'Night," yawned Ron. "I'm glad your back."

"Me too."

And Harry was, from the bottom of his heart. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, drifting off, for the first time in two months, into a pleasant, dreamless sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry woke up to the warmth of a ray of light shinning through his window from outside. He rolled over with a groan. He was so warm and so comfortable, he didn't want to get up. It wasn't until Ron busted into their dormitory and ripped the blankets off Harry, that he fully awoke and realized where he was.

"Wake up! Wake up, Harry!" hollered Ron, pulling him to his feet. "It's time for breakfast!" Harry sat on his bed for a second, rubbing his eyes. Ron looked down at Harry impatiently. Ron took up Harry's glasses just as Harry reached for them on his bedside table.

"Where are my glasses?" asked Harry, looking and feeling around for them.

"Here!" Ron pushed Harry's glasses on his face. "Come on, get up! I'm starving!"

"There's nothing stopping you from going down to breakfast without me," Harry replied, stretching. Ron stood there for a moment and then took off.

"I'll meet you down there," said Ron as he left. 

Harry rummaged through his trunk for his school robes. He quickly threw on his clothes and packed his school bag. He stopped on his way out of his dormitory and looked at himself in the mirror. It was true that he still looked sick and pale, but he looked more rested and indeed a lot more happy. Harry glanced down at his robes. They were too short. He definitely grew over the summer, if nothing else. He shrugged and flung his school bag over his shoulder. His school bag was very, very light. It consisted of old pieces of leftover parchment with ink splotches, half empty ink bottles, and his old and warn out eagle feather quill. He had no new school books or new school supplies. He hoped that he would be able to share Ron or Hermione's textbooks. 

Minutes later, Harry arrived in the busy Great Hall for breakfast. He joined his fellow housemates at Gryffindor table, sitting next to Hermione.

"Good morning, Harry," she greeted him cheerfully. 

"Morning, Hermione! So, what's for breakfast?" replied Harry, reaching out for a bowl of porridge. He piled up his plate with eggs, bacon, ham, toast, roasted potatoes, pancakes, toast, and syrups and sauces of all sorts. 

"Have you seen Hermione's Prefect badge yet, Harry?" Ron asked, shovelling potatoes into his mouth. Harry nodded his head, his mouth overflowing with food so he couldn't speak. Hermione beamed at him. 

"I haven't had a good look at it though," Harry finally spoke between swallows. Hermione unpinned the small silver badge from her robe and handed it to Harry. Harry examined it over and under. "That's great, Hermione!" he said, smiling at her. "I'm proud of you. I knew you'd make Prefect."

"We _all_ knew that from the start!" chirped Ron. "I mean, who else would it have been? We get into too much trouble, Harry. Professor Dumbledore wouldn't make either of us Prefect. We have a certain disregard for rules, remember? What kind of role model would we be?" Ron winked at Harry.

"Hermione breaks the rules too," added Harry playfully. 

"Yes! You and Ron are terrible, Harry. You'd never make good Prefects!" Hermione gave a superior smile. Ron nudged her in the side. She giggled. "Oh come on, Ron. I was joking. We all get in trouble. So what. It's for good reasons."

"Hello there, Harry!" came a small, chipper voice from across the table. Harry looked up to see Colin Creevy, a Fourth Year Gryffindor, sit down across from him. His mousy-faced younger brother, Dennis, sat next to him, smiling broadly at Harry. "How was your summer?" 

"Miserable, thanks. How was yours?" replied Harry airily. Colin didn't seem to know how to respond to that. He blinked a few times and then began filling his plate with food.

"My summer was great! My family and I spent a week in Germany for vacation. We saw so many things! Dennis almost got bitten by a dog!" Dennis nodded so hard Harry thought his head would fall off. "We took loads of pictures!"

"I bet you did," said Harry quietly so Ron and Hermione could hear him. The three of them tried to hide their smiles by filling their mouths with porridge.

"And I bought a lot of neat things too! Want to see?"

"Maybe another time, Colin," answered Harry politely. "There's not that much time right now."

"Right! It's the first day of classes. I'm so excited! Aren't you? And what about Quidditch, hey, Harry? I heard Slytherin has a few new players. We're going to win the Quidditch Cup again, aren't we?"

"Who knows, Colin," shrugged Harry. 

Just then, Professor McGonagall came around with their class schedules. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at theirs.

"We've got Defence Against the Dark Arts first," noted Ron. "That means we'll get to meet the new professor."

Stomach's full and smiles on their faces, the students headed to their first class of the term. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stood up and gathered up their school bags, when Harry heard his name being called from behind him. He turned around to see Professor McGonagall rushing over to him.

"Before you leave, Potter," she began, a little out of breath, "the Headmaster would like a word with you." Harry glanced back at his friends, who stood at Gryffindor table waiting for him, as he made his way up to the High Table. 

All the other professors and staff members had left for class, except for Professor McGonagall and Professor Webster. They stood, flanking the Headmaster.

"Harry, the reason I wanted to see you is because I received Mrs. Weasley's owl this morning, with a letter about you. Do you have any idea what she could be writing to me about so urgently?" Professor Dumbledore looked over his half moon spectacles at Harry.

"Yes," Harry said abruptly. "Mrs. Weasley wants me to stay with Ron from now on, instead of my aunt and uncle."

"Mrs. Weasley seems to think that there is a problem at the Dursleys that I should be aware of. Is there?"

Harry's mouth grew dry. His stomach gave a lurch. He could feel the palms of his hands growing sweaty. He looked from Professor McGonagall to Professor Webster, unsure if he should answer.

"Or would you prefer to discus the matter in private?" continued Dumbledore, noticing the uneasiness in Harry's face.

"No, it's alright, Professor. It's just…well…the Dursleys haven't exactly been the nicest to me this summer. In fact, they were rotten. Worse then any other summer I've ever spent with them." There was silence in the Great Hall now. All the other students had left. The teachers just looked down at Harry. Harry could have sworn that Professor McGonagall looked as though she was ready to burst out in tears. Professor Webster, on the other hand, looked solemn. "What? Don't you believe Mrs. Weasley?" 

"I do believe Mrs. Weasley. And you, as well. I will think over her proposal and will tell you what my decision is when I have made it." Harry looked kind of puzzled at this statement. Professor Dumbledore smiled. "That is not all I have called you up here for, Harry. Mrs. Weasley also informed me that you never had time to buy any new school supplies. I was going to take you to Diagon Alley myself, but Bryan, here," (Professor Dumbledore motioned to Professor Webster) "has gladly volunteered to take you. I think it will be a great way to get to know each other better. So, what do you think, Harry? Are you up for a little trip to Diagon Alley after school today?"

Harry smiled. "Of course! I'd love to!" he cheered. 

"Good. You will meet Professor Webster in his classroom after your last class. Now that that is settled, I bet you're anxious to get to your first class, considering it is with Professor Webster." Professor Dumbledore looked kindly down at Harry and smiled. Harry smiled back.

Harry bounded down the steps that lead to the High Table to meet his two friends.

"What did Professor Dumbledore want?" asked Ron, as the three of them left the Great Hall.

"He said I might be able to stay with you and your family from now on!" jumped Harry, too excited to keep it in. Ron's jaw dropped.

"_Really_?" he exhaled in disbelief.

"He said he'd think it over. But I think we might have a good shot this time!" 

"That's fantastic, Harry!" gushed Hermione. "You can do all sorts of things at the Weasleys! You can even do your homework properly now." Ron scowled at Hermione.

"Always thinking about school work. There's loads of things we can do! We can practice Quidditch and play all sorts of tricks on Fred and George. Oh, wait till Ginny hears that the Famous Harry Potter is going to be staying at our house! Forever! She'd just **die**!"

"Calm down, Ron. Harry doesn't even know if it's for sure yet."

Ron shot a displeased glance at Hermione. "Never mind her, Harry. She wants to take the fun out of everything. We'll have a great time at the Burrow!"

"Is that all Professor Dumbledore had to say?" added Hermione, disregarding Ron's enthusiasm.

"He also said that Professor Webster is going to take me to Diagon Alley after school today to buy my school supplies!"

"What? Diagon Alley! After school! You lucky thing," piped Ron in awe. "Can we come too?"

"I-don't-think-so!" barked Hermione. "This is for Harry. He never had his chance this summer, and now he gets to go."

"Oh, come off it Hermione! You know you'd go if we were invited too. But, you're right. You always seem to be right. But why Professor Webster? Why not Dumbledore, himself? Or Professor McGonagall, even?"

"I don't know. Dumbledore said that Webster volunteered."

"I guess it's the whole 'Famous Harry Potter' thing. He probably just wants to be spotted with you, is all," Ron said airily. Harry shrugged.

"Or maybe he was just being nice," suggested Hermione, matter-of-factly.

"At least I'll get to know our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher better, I guess," mentioned Harry.

"You can give us the low down," joked Ron. He received a stern look from Hermione.

"Oh, just because you're a Prefect!" he bellowed agitatedly.


	8. So It Begins Part 1

-1Harry, Ron, and Hermione made their way down the corridor to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"Nice robes, Potter!" piped a cold, smug voice from behind them. Harry, Ron, and Hermione wheeled around to see Draco Malfoy coming down the hall with his oversized cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. "Did someone run out of money and couldn't afford a new set, or are you trying for a new fashion statement?" Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

"Can it, Malfoy, if you'd like to keep that mouth of yours!" barked Ron in Harry's defence. Harry put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from hurting Malfoy.

"Ron, it's the first day. Leave it," Harry said quietly to his friend. He turned to enter the classroom. Hermione followed. Ron waited for Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle to catch up. Malfoy stopped and glared up at Ron.

"Give me one reason, Malfoy. Just one!" Ron threatened, his fist clenched and his teeth bared.

"That hair, for one," taunted Malfoy. Ron stepped toward him, but was knocked back by a punch in the eye from Goyle. Malfoy cackled all the way to his seat at the front of the class. Oblivious to what happened, Harry and Hermione took their seats in the middle of the classroom. Shortly, Ron joined them, sitting in the aisle seat, clutching his left eye.

"What happened to you?" squeaked Hermione.

"Malfoy!" Ron grumbled.

"He hit you?"

"No. Goyle did. But Malfoy started it."

"Yes, but you didn't't have to try and finish it."

"Oh, I'm not done yet! He'll get what's coming to him, you can be sure of that!"

"Let it go, Ron," added Harry. "He just thinks he can get away with it."

"Well, he won't," grumbled Ron.

"Quiet!" butted Hermione. She pointed to the back of the classroom.

In walked Professor Webster, his navy blue robes billowing behind him.

The class fell silent and watched their new teacher take his place at the front of the class. He turned to the students and took out the register. He began calling off names, looking through the class to each student to place their name to their face. When Professor Webster reached Harry's name, he glanced at him longer than he did with the other students. He gave Harry a little smile before continuing with the attendance. When he was done with the register, he tossed the parchment aside, folded his arms, and looked at his class.

"Good morning everyone. I hope you enjoyed your summer. I, on the other hand, did not. First, let me tell you a bit about myself." Professor Webster spoke with straight-forward certainty, as if every word he spoke was the truth. "My name is Bryan Webster. I was born and raised in Hogsmeade and attended this very school. I excelled in every subject. Made Prefect and Headboy. After I graduated, I worked for the Ministry of Magic in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts department. I was soon promoted as an Auror for helping capture a handful of Death Eaters. And for the last twelve years I've worked in the Department of Mysteries as…well, if I told you, then it wouldn't be a mystery."

A few of the students chuckled at Professor Webster's crack at a joke. He never moved. "In my class I expect you all to listen, pay attention, take notes, study, participate, and learn. If you do all these things, then you're guaranteed to pass this course this year. Now, that pleasantries are over, let's get down to business. Professor Manell left me a quick list of all she's taught you these passed three years." Professor Webster held up a piece of parchment and looked it over. "And I have to say, you've learnt a great deal. But, there is something that Professor Manell has not spoke to you about yet." He put the parchment down.

"This is a Defence _Against_the Dark Arts class, is it not? How can you defend yourself against the Dark Arts if you don't know what you're protecting yourself from in the first place? That is what I will be teaching you first."

"You're going to teach us Dark Arts?" squeaked Neville Longbottom from the back of the class. Professor Webster looked at him.

"You are?" he asked Neville.

"Neville, sir. Neville Longbottom." Professor Webster looked down at the register again.

"Ah, yes. No, Mr. Longbottom, I am not going to teach you any Dark Magic. I don't expect any of you to know how to perform any of these spells because Dark Magic is highly advanced, even for someone who has had ten years of magical experience. I am simply going to talk about and show you what you might be up against in the future. If anyone has a problem with this, you can leave now. Otherwise, I expect your undivided attention. Many of the things you will learn in this class will better prepare you for any encounter you might have with a dark wizard." Professor Webster shot a quick glance at Harry.

"Now! We will start off this half of the course discussing Dark Magicians. Ever since the dawn of time there has been magic. There just wasn't anyone to harness this power and use it as their own. When humans came a long, it was found that some of these humans possessed this power of magic in their blood. Centuries ago, these magicians, known as sorcerers and sorceresses, or more commonly, wizards and witches, began to experiment with their powers and the powers of life forces around them. Most of these wizards and witches used their magic for good, but there were always those few who became corrupt and desired power more than anything. And thus, Dark Magic was born. And it's still alive today. It's just we haven't seen a lot of it in the passed fifteen years or so.

"There have been some very famous magicians and some not so famous. Grindelwald, for example, and we all know who defeated him," added Professor Webster airily, as a side note. "But never has there **ever** been such a famous and terrifying sorcerer in all these years as the one I want to talk to you about today. In fact, during these next three weeks. You all know whom I speak of."

There was an eyrie silence in the room. All the students were taken aback by Professor Webster's last statement. Everyone knew exactly who Professor Webster was talking about. But they all wondered if he'd dare to speak about him, even if he was no longer a threat to the world.

"Lord Voldemort," said Professor Webster. The students gasped. Parvati Patil let out a little scream and Neville Longbottom almost fell off his chair.

"But-but Professor, you're-you're not to speak his name!" whispered Seamus Finnegan in disbelief. Professor Webster furrowed his eyebrows at his class.

"I've always been taught to never fear the name of your enemy. And considering Lord Voldemort's current state, I doubt we need ever fear him again," he responded seriously.

"Then why are you teaching us about him, Professor?" asked Hermione curiously. Webster rounded his stare at Hermione.

"Because, there may just be someone out there who is just as bad, if not worse than the Dark Lord." He looked round at his concerned students. "If it makes you more comfortable, I will refrain from calling him by his real name." Professor Webster's straight-forwardness eased up and he looked more hospitable then when he first entered the classroom. "So, what makes a Dark wizard so dark to begin with? Can anyone tell me what makes He Who Must Not Be Named so intimidating and fearsome?" Professor Webster began pacing back and forth in front of his desk. Almost everyone in the class threw up their hands at this question. Everyone, except Harry, Ron, Malfoy, and Crabbe and Goyle.

Professor Webster pointed at each student and listened to their responses.

"He's a murderer!" yelped Justin Finch-Fletchley.

"He's insane!" added Dean Thomas.

"I don't think I'd go as far as to say he was insane. Mentally unstable, yes, but full blown insane, I don't think so. Yes, Miss Brown?" said the Professor.

"I read somewhere that once he tortured a wizard by turning him inside out," replied Lavender Brown, in a quiet voice. The class showed their disgust over this story.

Professor Webster grinned. "So, you're afraid of his creativity? Interesting. Miss Granger, what do you think makes the Dark Lord so scary?"

"His eyes," replied Hermione even quieter than Lavender. The class went silent. Professor Webster stopped pacing. Harry and Ron exchanged glances.

"What makes you say such a thing as his eye, Miss Granger?" questioned the Professor. Hermione swallowed. Harry could tell that she was nervous and didn't know if she should answer. But being who she is, Hermione cleared her throat and sat up straight.

"Because I've seen them," she stated. This began the students' murmurs.

"You've _seen_ them, Miss Granger?" gasped Webster, intrigued. He looked beside her to Harry and Ron. "Yes, I suppose you would have." Professor Webster continued in his normal fashion. "Mr.-er- Malfoy," he said, checking the register, "what about you? Is there anything you've heard or read that scares you about You Know Who?"

Malfoy smirked. "Of course not, Professor," began Malfoy. Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned around to glare at him. His cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, sniggered.

"I was always taught that he was no better or worse than any ordinary wizard," continued Malfoy. Malfoy's smile became wider and he leaned close to Harry. Harry rolled his eyes and turned back around. He knew that Malfoy was flat out lying. If Malfoy was afraid of his own father, then it's only obvious he'd fear the most powerful and worst wizard of the century. Professor Webster seemed, to Harry, to be eyeing Malfoy's smug face to pick any ounce of truth out of what he just said. But, Professor Webster said nothing in response to Malfoy. He simply looked to Harry.

"What about you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry thought for a while, trying to come up with why he was so afraid of Lord Voldemort. He thought of saying "Because he killed my parents", but realized that that's not why he was intimidating to Harry.

"Perhaps…" Harry began, still in the process of thinking.

"You don't have to answer, Harry," whispered Ron to Harry. Harry continued without acknowledging Ron.

"I guess it's because of his confidence and his persistence."

"And why is that? Can you explain to the class what you mean by his confidence and persistence, Mr. Potter?" said Professor Webster. Harry noticed that even the professor looked interested and confused.

"Well…I say confident because You-Know-Who was always so sure he would finish what he started. And persistent because he never stopped trying…until now, of course."

"Very good, Mr. Potter!" commended the Professor in a very impressed tone. "Five points for Gryffindor."

The other Gryffindor students expressed their happiness, while Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged confused glances at each other. Harry couldn't understand why he was being rewarded for the horrible things that happened in his life so far. What Harry meant by Lord Voldemort being so confident and persistent in his mission was that he always wanted to kill Harry ever since he was born and had never stopped trying to find a way to kill him. It was more perverse than impressive, Harry thought.

The bell rang to signify the end of class. The students began packing up their school bags.

"Right! Now, don't leave this classroom until you've picked up a book from off my desk." The students gather to the front of Professor Webster's desk and took a copy of the tattered, brown, leather-covered book that was sitting in three neat piles on the corner of his desk. "I want you to read the first chapter and be ready to discuss more about He Who Must Not Be Named for next class!"

Everyone filed out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and into the bright warmth of the corridors.

"Well, that was an interesting class, to say the least," noted Ron. "I can't believe someone would talk about that ruddy git of a wizard even after he's dead."

"He's not dead, Ron. He's soulless," corrected Hermione in her know-it-all tone of voice.

"Excuse me, Miss Prefect, but he's just as well dead because he can't come back, now can he?"

"Will you two stop fighting for one second please?" interjected Harry. "You've been arguing with each other ever since the first time we met. It's getting annoying and not to mention old."

Ron and Hermione looked at Harry in alarm. They both shut their mouths and looked straight ahead to the front doors to the castle. All three of them had Herbology out in the greenhouses next.

Classes that day were very much the same as the classes on the first day back to school: new and either relatively interesting or completely boring. In Herbology, Professor Sprout went over her usual review from last year's Herbology. The Gryffindors and Slytherins were out early from Care of Magical Creatures, the class that Hagrid taught them. Hagrid said he had a lesson planned for them, but the shipment of Fwoopers hadn't arrived yet. So, instead, they spent the majority of the class taking notes on Fwoopers. The morning had gone by relatively well.

After lunch, Harry, Ron, and Hermione had Potions with their least favourite Professor in the whole school: Professor Severus Snape. In Potions that day, Professor Snape gave his students a pop quiz to see who had read their textbook over the summer and who did not. Naturally, Hermione received a perfect score, but no House Points for Gryffindor for her ingenious plan to always be ahead. Harry and Ron, as well as most of the class, did not read their textbook over the summer and therefore did not receive a passing mark on the quiz. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, was one of the few who did receive a good mark and ten points for Slytherin. The next class that Harry had was Divination with Ron; Hermione had Arithmancy. The three of them split up when they reached the Great Hall after Care of Magical Creatures. Hermione made her way down the right corridor and Harry and Ron ran to the North Tower, where they met the rest of their class. The students filed up into the Tower where Professor Trelawney held Divination. As usual, the classroom was lit with a blazing fire that smelt of cheep, heavy perfume and the lamps were covered with colourful shawls. Harry and Ron took their seat at a small round table with Dean Thomas.

"Good morning my children," Professor Trelawney breathed mistily as she appeared from the shadows. She fixed her shawl and sat in her winged chair in the front of the class. "Welcome back to another mystical year. As I was in my chamber I was consulting my orb and found that this year will be full of surprises and difficulties for all of you. Especially you, Mr. Potter, and you, Mr. Longbottom."

Neville gulped worriedly. Harry rolled his eyes at Ron. Harry was in his third year of Divination and Professor Trelawney was still predicting a horrible life for him. It was true, though, that Harry's life was never easy, but he always came out alive, proving Trelawney wrong every year.

"This term, children, I will be teaching you the art of Palmistry. Reading someone's palm may sound easy enough, but I assure you that it is more difficult that you came to believe. There is so much you can find out about the person and his or her future." Professor Trelawney kept talking throughout the class of the importance and mysteries involved with Palmistry, while Harry and Ron politely tuned her out.

After Divinations, Harry and Ron left the North Tower in relief. They met Hermione, fresh from stuffing her mind with more information, in the Transfiguration corridor. In Transfiguration that afternoon Professor McGonagall explained to her students what they would be learning this year: tapping into their Animagi powers, if they had any, and human transfiguration into still objects. As usual, Professor McGonagall started them off by having them take notes on what an Animagi was.


	9. Shopping With Webster

-1"This year sounds great!" cheered Hermione as they left Transfiguration.

"Speak for yourself," replied Ron sulkily.

"I was," Hermione said blankly. Ron gave her a strange look. "I can't wait to see who in our class has Animagi powers. Harry, you might be one of them, considering your father was an Animagi," continued Hermione brightly.

"Wouldn't that be brilliant?" asked Ron, looking at Harry,

"Sure," agreed Harry with a smile. "I'd love to change into an animal. I just hope I can change into something good."

"I'd change into a (tiger or dragon). What about you, Hermione?" said Ron.

"I'm not sure. I haven't really thought about it. Harry, what would you be?"

"I haven't thought about it much either. Probably a (dragon or something to injure Draco)" They laughed. The three of them made their way up the moving stairs to their dormitories.

"Wait, Harry! Where are you going? Aren't you supposed to meet Professor Webster in the Entrance Hall so you can go to Diagon Alley?" piped Hermione suddenly. Harry stopped in his tracks.

"Right, I forgot. Well, I guess I'll be going then."

"We'll take your things to the dormitory, Harry," said Ron. Harry handed Ron his school bag. "How are you getting to Diagon Alley? You can't take the train. That'll take too long."

"I have no idea. Professor Dumbledore never said how we'd get there, he just said we were going."

"I'm sure you'll find out when you meet Professor Webster," added Hermione pushing Harry along.

"Thanks guys! I'll see you later!" Harry called from down the corridor. Ron and Hermione waved him goodbye.

Harry ran down the stairs to the Entrance Hall, where Professor Webster was waiting for him.

"Sorry I'm late, Professor. I forgot we were going to Diagon Alley," apologized Harry catching his breath.

"That's okay. Are you ready to go? Do you have your Gringotts key?"

"Right here," Harry said patting his robe pocket.

"Good. Follow me, then. We're going to my office."

"But I thought we're going to Diagon Alley?"

"We are…By my office." Harry didn't understand what Professor Webster meant by that, but followed him back up to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

When they arrived at Professor Webster's office, Professor Webster went directly to the fireplace. He reached for a dark red porcelain pot that was resting on the mantelpiece.

"Have you ever travelled by Floo Powder, Harry?" he asked, taking the lid off the pot and holding in front of Harry. Harry looked inside to see that the pot contained dust.

"Floo Powder?" Harry inquired. "No, sir, I haven't."

"Well, it's very simple, really. You take a handful of powder, stand in the fireplace, and say where you want to go, while letting the powder go. Understand?"

"You want me to stand in the fireplace?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Yes," replied Professor Webster, pointedly. "You stand in the fireplace, when there is no fire of course, and throw down the Floo Powder when you say 'Diagon Alley'. The Floo Powder will transfer you directly to another fireplace in Diagon Alley."

"What about you?" added Harry.

"I'll be right behind you. It's just like going down a slide," added Professor Webster when he saw the worried look on Harry's face.

"I've never been on a slide before," said Harry. He eyed the powder in the pot one more time before taking a handful and stepping into the fireplace. He hesitated, holding his hand with the Floo Powder out in front of himself.

"Go ahead, Harry. It won't hurt you. It'll just make you a little dizzy," explained the Professor, taking a handful for himself.

"Diagon Alley!" Harry spoke as he threw the powder to the floor of the fireplace. A huge burst of sparkling green flames erupted around him and he felt as though he was being sucked through a straw. Harry twisted and turned awkwardly as he shot passed different fireplace grates. His stomach was doing vicious flip flops inside him. He felt as if he was going to be sick. Shortly after the dizziness began in his head, he felt himself slowing down. Suddenly he felt the hardness of floor underneath his back as he slide from out of the fireplace. Harry wanted to lie there on the floor until his head stopped spinning and his stomach stopped dancing, but then he remembered that Professor Webster was coming right after him. Harry rolled over onto his knees just in time to see the professor shoot out from the grate. Professor Webster was covered in soot, just as Harry assumed that he was too. Harry could barely see through his glasses.

Professor Webster stood up promptly, dusting himself off. He held out his hand to help Harry to his feet. Harry dusted himself off rather pathetically. Harry looked around to see that he and the Professor had landed in the Cauldron Shop. The shop was fairly deserted, with only a few wizards quietly looking at the displays.

"So, what did you think?" asked Professor Webster. _Think? _Harry thought. Harry's head was still light and he still felt nauseous. Harry decided that he never wanted to travel by Floo Powder ever again.

"Well…" was the only word Harry could muster. Professor Webster laughed.

"Almost everyone feels the same way after their first time. The feeling will wear off shortly. In the meantime, are you ready to go to Gringott's?" Harry nodded. He and the Professor left the Cauldron Shop and headed down to one end of Diagon Alley to Gringott's Wizarding Bank so that Harry could retrieve enough money to buy his school supplies.

The afternoon was bright and the air was thick in the Alley from the heat of the sun. The warmth of the rays soothed Harry. He felt comfortable and relaxed; something he hadn't felt in almost a year. Harry looked up to Professor Webster to see what his reaction was to the splendour of the afternoon, but Webster didn't seem amused or delighted in any way. He continued through the Alley in his strong, undisturbed way; his eyes straight ahead at the target. Finally, the two of them had reached the Bank.

It took Harry only ten minutes to reach his vault, fill his money pouch with Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts, and return to the surface of the Bank. Professor Webster had not gone down with Harry to his vault. He felt that Harry was able enough to go on his own and what Harry had in his vault was none of his business. So, when Harry arrived back in the lobby of Gringotts, Professor Webster was waiting for him. Professor Webster, Harry noticed, seemed always to be very confident with himself; in his speech and in his gestures. Harry had to admit that it was very strange to be seeing a different professor for Defence Against the Dark Arts since Hogwarts had only had

Professor Manell's perky and outgoing behaviour for three years.

"I'm ready," announced Harry when he stopped in front of the Professor.

"Very good, then. Where shall we go now? Shall we have you fitted for some new school robes before we buy anything else?" Harry looked down at his pathetically short school robes and ,smiling at Professor Webster, he nodded.

The two of them left Gringott's Wizarding Bank and headed through the nearly empty Alley to Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions.

"So, Harry, tell me something. How did you like my class today?" Professor Webster asked Harry, nonchalantly. Harry wasn't quit sure what to say to his professor. It was one thing to talk to your friends openly about how classes were, but to tell that to the professor seemed uncomfortable.

"I thought it was interesting," Harry suggested.

"Really?" asked Webster sceptically. "Really, Harry, you can tell me the truth of what you thought of my first lesson. There's one thing that I despise and that's when people lie. Be upfront with me, Harry, because I will always be upfront with you. I want to know how you really felt so that I may change my lessons to better suit the students' needs."

"Well…It really was interesting. But, I did find it a bit odd that you would talk about Lord Voldemort, especially since he's gone. I mean, some people still aren't over the affect he had on the Wizarding world."

"Lord Voldemort isn't gone. The Dark Lord will never be gone, Harry. He is forever in our hearts and minds; that's how powerful he was. No one will ever forget about him, no matter what happened to him," replied Professor Webster, earnestly.

"I was just surprised, that's all," added Harry. "Neither of our previous professors really spoke about Voldemort, especially not Professor Quirrell," Harry added with a chuckle, remembering how scared Professor Quirrell was when he and Harry were confronted with the Dark Lord in Harry's first year.

"I understand how you feel. I wasn't sure if I should start my lesson with Lord Voldemort, but there was nothing else of interest that I felt compelled to teach. Do you see what I'm saying, Harry?"

"Yes, sir."

"I also believe that we all should have been completely educated on the subject of the Dark Lord, then perhaps we might not have been so ignorant when he came back. Perhaps the knowledge would of decreased their sense of fear."

"Are…are you afraid of Lord Voldemort?" Harry stumbled to ask. At first he wasn't sure if he should ask such a personal question, but Harry was interested to know if this Webster guy was truly as strong as he played himself to be.

"Not really, Harry. I work in the Department of Mysteries. I've seen so many things that would make your skin crawl and haunt your dreams forever. I've never come face-to-face with He Who Must Not Be Named, but you have to understand that he was just like any of us; just as different and insecure. Well, that's the next lecture topic. You'll have to wait to find out the rest tomorrow!" Professor Webster shot a playful grin Harry's way. "Ah, here we are!"

They had reached the Madam Malkin's. A bell tinkled from above the door as Professor Webster opened the door to the shop. An elderly witch, who was the owner Madam Malkin, came out from behind the counter.

"What can I do for you dearies?" she asked them.

"Mr. Potter, here, needs a set of new school robes," announced Webster.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter! Right this way!" The elderly witch brought Harry up to the second floor of the store and had her Magical Measuring Tape measure him, while she picked out the fabric. "You're still in Gryffindor, I presume?"

"Yes, ma'am, I am," answered Harry.

"Good for you! Gryffindor was always my favourite house. Nice youngsters they have!" Madam Malkin began cutting and sewing the fabric to fit Harry. Within half an hour she had made Harry a brand new pair of clean robes that fit him comfortably. Harry paid for his robes and left.

"Goodbye, gentleman!" Madame Malkin waved them away.

Harry had changed back into his old robes because he didn't want to ruin his new set yet. Harry and Professor Webster went to the Apothecary for some new potion vials and ingredients. After that they stopped into Eylopes Owl Emporium for owl treats for Hedwig. When they reached Flourish and Blotts, Professor Webster met a friend and co-worker from the Ministry and stopped to talk to him while Harry picked up his school books: Unfogging the Future, Grade Five and The Norse Runes Collection for Divination, One Thousand and Two Herbs and Fungi for Potions, Ashwinders and other Household Pets for Care of Magical Creatures, Animagi and Animal Transfigurations for Transfiguration class, and Plants for Poisons for Herbology class. There was no book listed for Defence Against the Dark Arts on Harry's school letter. It said that books will be supplied by the professor. Harry paid for his school books and then, saying goodbye to his friend, Professor Webster and Harry left the shop to buy Harry a new quill, ink, and rolls of parchment (is where?). Their next stop was Quality Quidditch Supplies; Harry's favourite store. In the display window was the newest version of the Firebolt racing broom: the Firebolt Xp315; the lightest, fastest, easiest manoeuvring, aerodynamic racing broom. Harry knew that his current broom, his Firebolt, was perfectly fine and that he didn't need this new model, but the slim, shiny, wood handle and perfectly cut tail was too much to pass up. All Harry could visualize was he, Harry, hovering above the Quidditch Pitch in his scarlet and gold robes, while Draco Malfoy gaped at him from below, granted that Mr. Malfoy had not bought his son the very same broom. Regardless, Harry dished out 550 Galleons from his money bag and ecstatically paid the sales wizard.

"I take it you're a Quidditch player, Harry?" asked Professor Webster with a grin.

"I love Quidditch! It's the best sport in the world!"

"And you needed a new broom?"

"Well," Harry could feel his face turn pink, "no, not exactly. But maybe it will help us win the Quidditch Cup this year," added Harry.

"It's not our possessions that cause us to win, Harry. It's our talents and I'm sure you're very talented in Quidditch on any old broom."

"I guess you're right, but I'm not bringing it back!" Harry protested, smiling. "Besides, I did have a terrible summer. My cousin Dudley received a new Playstation 2 game for receiving a small cut on his forehead and I received nothing for my broken arm."

"Then I guess you deserve it," agreed Professor Webster. "Say, Harry, how about we stop into the Leaky Cauldron for some butterbeer and we can talk more about your cousin?" suggested Webster.

"I'll go for the butterbeers, but I'd don't really want to talk about my cousin."

"Sounds fair. We'll talk about other things."

"Sounds good to me."

Harry and Webster found a table in the far corner of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry placed his school supplies in the chair next to him. Professor Webster went up to the bar and ordered two butterbeers. He joined Harry at their table shortly after. They sat in the Leaky Cauldron chugging down their butterbeers without a word spoken between them. It was finally Harry who spoke.

"Thank you, Professor, for taking me to buy my school supplies," expressed Harry.

"It was my pleasure, Harry. Anything to get to know my students better. I bet you've heard this a million times, but you look so much like your father."

"You knew my father?" Harry jumped, nearly choking on his butterbeer.

"Of course I did!" Professor Webster chuckled at the butterbeer dripping from Harry's chin. Harry wiped it away with his sleeve. "Anyone who attended Hogwarts knew who James Potter was. I hope I'm not upsetting you by speaking of him?"

Harry felt a little embarrassed that Professor Webster would think that the mention of his father would immediately upset him. It was true, however, that Harry missed his parents, even though he hadn't really known them. He knew they loved him. He loved them too. Harry shook his head and took another gulp of his butterbeer.

"James was in his last year at Hogwarts when I had just been enrolled. As an older student and an _expected_ role model I watched him interact with the other students. The girls really swooned over your father, but he was with your mother at the time. Your father was really nice, Harry. He didn't seem to let any of the praise he received to go to his head. That's one of the reasons I think your mother liked him so much. But you, you're a spitting image of him, except for your green eyes. Those were your mothers. I heard so much about her eyes from the other students but I never got to see them for myself. James did, though, just like you, enjoy venturing where he wasn't supposed to. I believe it's your inherent nature to be curious. Your father and his friends were always receiving detention. For what, there isn't time enough in the world to tell you, but I will tell you this: Hogwarts was never the same after he and his friends left." Professor Webster took a gulp of his butterbeer and sat back with a ponderous look on his face.

Harry, too, was reflecting upon what Webster had just told him. He'd heard from so many different wizards how much he resembled his parents in looks and actions; especially when it came to rule breaking, but (some insight I can't think of right now.)

"What House were you in?" Harry asked his professor.

"Slytherin," he replied nonchalantly, crossing his arms with his mug in one hand. "I was one of the few students in Slytherin who didn't hate your parents. In fact, I remember, I didn't really hate anybody. Except for this one skulky kid, but I won't get into that. Let's just say he was a real brownnoser and a liar. I hate liars," Professor Webster added with a hint of disgust. "He was gone the same year as your parents. Thank goodness for that." Webster finished off his butterbeer and then signalled to Tom, the Innkeeper, for a refill. "Need more, Harry?" Harry downed his butterbeer and handed his mug to Tom, who smiled back politely.

"Harry, I'm curious," began Professor Webster, leaning forward and resting his folded arms on the table. "How did you survive?"

Harry was somewhat confused by this question. What did Professor Webster mean by _survive_? _Survive_ what? Harry thought. "I'm sorry, Professor, but I don't understand the question," explained Harry.

"Your scar, Harry. We've all been wondering down at the Department."

"The Department of Mysteries has been wondering about my scar?" he inquired.

"Everyone in the Ministry has. The whole wizarding world, even. It's not everyday a baby survives the worst curse known to wizards and Muggles alike and comes out of it with a lightning bolt-shaped scar. If it was someone else, wouldn't you wonder too?"

Harry thought about it. He never thought about it that way before. Harry always wondered why everyone found his scar so amazing, except for the obvious: that he was a baby who escaped death from the darkest wizard alive at the time. Harry had never imagined how he would feel if the situation had occurred to someone else and they were known as "The Boy Who Lived". Harry figured he would be just as curious, just as baffled as everyone else. Harry felt a little uncomfortable now that he had to explain the reason behind his survival of the Killing Curse to an almost complete stranger.

"It's, er, because…" he lowered his voice, "my mother died for me, I guess."

"Of course!" Professor Webster announced as if he'd just figured out the answer to a puzzle he'd been working at his whole life. He sat back in his chair again "I understand completely. Love conquers all. Clichéd, but very powerful, Harry, don't get me wrong. Your mother was very brave. You came from good stock, Harry. Good stock," Webster commended him, as if Harry had a choice in the matter. "Do you suppose now that you could die? I mean, since that scar seems to be a protection for you."

_Protection_, Harry thought, _protection_? There was nothing special about his scar, except that it was shaped like a lightning bolt. His scar twinged with pain every time Lord Voldemort was around or felt the urge to kill. There was nothing pleasant about the surging pain in his forehead. What was he going to say to Professor Webster?

"I suppose I can still be killed. I can feel pain, so why not death? I don't think my scar makes me unsusceptible to death. Everybody dies." That was the first time Harry had admitted it; that everyone died. Even Ty. It hit him like the Hogwarts Express at top speed. No one is truly immortal. Death is inevitable. Eventually he would die. Even Headmaster Dumbledore would have to die sometime. That thought, enough, sent shivers up Harry's spine. It saddened him. He was very thankful that Tom returned with their butterbeers because now he had something to distract himself from unpleasant thoughts of the future.

"You're right, Harry. Everybody does die. Speaking of death, I don't mean to be disconcerting or anything, but you were very close friends with that Wilkins girl, weren't you; the one who passed away a few months back?" Professor Webster took a drink from his mug as if the question he asked Harry was nothing _disconcerting_ at all. For the first time he was with the professor, he had no idea how to answer him. Harry was beginning to dislike this game of being upfront with each other. Harry wished Webster would keep his thoughts to himself, or at least have the decency to ask someone else who was willing to speak openly about Ty to others.

"Harry, am I upsetting you or something? You look troubled," said Professor Webster sympathetically. "Stop me if I'm bothering you."

"You are," Harry whispered, more to himself then to the professor.

"I am? Then I'll stop. I'm sorry." Harry glanced up from starring into his butterbeer to see Professor Webster looking down at him earnestly. Harry nearly chugged down his whole mug of butterbeer as did the professor.

"Well! Are we ready to go back?" asked Webster, slamming down his mug onto the table and smacking his lips. Harry finished off his drink. He reached into his money bag to pay for his drinks. "What are you doing?" asked Webster.

"Paying," replied Harry.

"No need. These drinks are on me."

"But, Professor-!" It was too late. Professor Webster had paid Tom for both of their drinks and headed for the fireplace, carrying a handful of Harry's parcels. Harry scooped up the rest of his school supplies and followed his professor. Professor Webster reached into his robe pocket and pulled out a small, navy blue, velvet, draw-stringed sack and held it out to Harry. Harry took it and looked inside. Floo powder. Harry took a handful, handed the sack back to Webster, and stepped into the unlit fireplace.

He looked at his professor, who nodded. "Hogwarts!" Harry spoke clearly. The same warm green flames consumed him and sent him into a whirl of fire grates. Harry held his packages tightly to his body, afraid that one might slip and land in a Muggle's grate. Shortly after the roller-coaster ride, he felt his body be ejected out of a fireplace.

He felt hot, but only on one side of his body. Harry's glasses had fallen off in the whirlwind so he couldn't see where he landed. On the other hand, he heard people talking, screaming even.

"Fire!" they were shouting. "He's on fire!" Harry could feel the heat getting closer to his right arm and he dropped his packages. He could feel people stomping with their shoes and hitting him with large fluffy objects he figured were pillows.

"What's going on?" he shouted over the commotion.

"You're on fire!" he heard a familiar voice shout at him. It was Ron.

"Stay still, Harry!" came another familiar voice. "Surculusaqua!" the person shouted. Harry figured it could only be one person: Hermione. Harry now felt a cold rush of water hit his arm and his face. A large, solid object smashed his head from behind him. The crowd around him shrieked. Ron and Hermione pulled Harry to his feet. Harry grabbed the top of his head and massaged the throbbing pain.

"Harry, are you okay?" asked Ron.

"Are you okay?" asked another voice. Harry turned around to see a blur of color before him. Hermione handed Harry back his glasses (which had broken but Hermione generously fixed). Professor Webster was standing in front of Harry, his robes full of soot and the ends of his robes on fire.

"Er, Professor," Harry said, pointing down at his robes. Webster looked down.

"Ah, yes," he noted and magicked the flames away. Harry turned to Hermione.

"Now, why couldn't you do something like that? I'm soaking wet!"

"Now you won't have to take a shower!" joked Fred from the side of the crowd which was still gathered by the fireplace of the Gryffindor Common Room, Harry had noticed. A few students laughed, but most of them were still shocked over Harry being on fire. Professor Webster looked behind himself to see the warm, blazing fire coming from the grate.

"Yes, well, I didn't expect us to arrive through this grate. Sorry about that, Harry. And sorry about banging into you, there. I thought you'd be out of the way by then."

Harry shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he replied. And it really didn't matter. Harry looked down at his burnt and soaked sleeve. It was a good thing he had changed back into his old school robes. It would have been even more of a disaster if he had to sport a sleeveless robe tomorrow. Think of all the fun Malfoy and his goons would have with that.

"Can't afford a whole robe, Potter?" Malfoy would say and then snarl with laughter as Crabbe and Goyle sniggered like idiots.

Harry shook the thought off and began gathering his school supplies. Ron and Hermione helped by taking the packages Professor Webster had.

"I know we've missed supper, Harry, but I'll have the kitchen send you something to eat. Will you be okay?" Harry nodded and Professor Webster left through the portrait hole. Harry, Ron, and Hermione took Harry's things up to his dormitory.

"Thanks for putting me out, guys," Harry thanked his friends solemnly.

"No problem. George said to let you burn. He and Fred thought it was funny," informed Ron. "Sometimes I wonder about them two." Silently, Harry agreed. Fred and George were an odd couple.

"So how was your trip to Diagon Alley?" asked Hermione, unpacking Harry's supplies.

"What'd you get us?" added Ron.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. Ron ignored her. Harry shook a small package and tossed it to Ron. He handed Hermione a small, thin package. "Harry, you didn't have to!"

"I know. I wanted to."

Ron ripped open his gift in two swift movements. He was an expert gift opener. It took him all of five minutes to open all his Christmas gifts. Harry had timed him last Christmas, amazed at his skilfulness.

"Thanks, Harry!" Ron gushed, holding up a package of Dung Bombs Harry had bought in Gambol and Japes' Joke Shop. He took one out of the package and grinned devilishly.

"Don't you even think about it!" warned Hermione in her very severe tone.

Ron huffed. "Yes, Professor McGonagall! Or should I say, Percy?" Hermione squinted her eyes at Ron.

"There is nothing wrong with either Professor McGonagall or your brother. And how dare you speak of our Head of House like that! She can probably hear you."

"What? No she can't. You're just making that up to scare me," disbelieved Ron. He rolled his eyes at Harry. Harry grinned.

"Are you going to open your present, Hermione?" asked Harry. Hermione neatly tore open the back of the package.

"Oh, Harry! You didn't have to!" she gushed again, holding up a thin, paperback book that Harry bought in Flourish and Blotts.

"It's nothing fancy, but I saw it and thought of you. It's a short read, but it should be interesting."

"I love it!" She held the book in front of Ron. _Twelve Steps to Becoming the Greatest Witch You Can Be,_ Ron read. He stifled back a laugh.

"I love my Dung Bombs," added Ron again. Harry picked up the largest parcel he had from the floor, where he had put it when they first entered his dormitory. "What's that?" jumped Ron. "Don't tell me! It isn't?" Harry began to unwrap it. Ron saw the sleek and shiny wood that protruded from the one end. "**It is!**" Ron nearly fainted in exuberance. Harry laughed; he laughed so hard that his mouth began to hurt from being in such a foreign position. He hadn't laughed for nearly a year.

He finished unwrapping his Firebolt Xp315, letting it slide effortlessly from his fingertips onto his bed where Ron was sitting, goggling at it like a five year old Muggle would during fireworks.

"You bought it! You _**really** _bought it!" Ron began to shout. "We should start Quidditch really soon, Harry. I can't wait to see the look on Malfoy's face when you run him into the dirt with this broom!" Harry beamed. That was the exact reason he had bought the newest racing broom in the first place; to make Draco Malfoy the laughing stock to Hogwarts.

"Harry," Hermione began sceptically, "did you need a new racing broom? I thought your Firebolt was perfectly fine."

"_Fine_! _Fine_, Hermione? Harry can't be _fine_! He has to be spectacular! Even better then spectacular. **Breathtaking**! Quidditch isn't just a sport, Hermione, it's an art!"

"O-kay!" said Harry and Hermione together as they both stood up from their places on the floor. They both headed for the dormitory door.

"Are you coming, Ron?" asked Hermione.

"What? What did I say?" probed Ron as he followed his friends back down to the Gryffindor Common Room. When the three of them made it back to the Common Room there was a plate of that night's dinner and a jug of pumpkin juice waiting for Harry on a table. Harry sat down with Ron and Hermione and began to tell them everything that happened in Diagon Alley. He told them about their shopping. He told them about Professor Webster telling Harry that he hated liars and liked when people told the truth. He also told them about his conversation with the professor about his parents, Ty, and Lord Voldemort.

"That guy really fancies You-Know-Who, doesn't he? Do you think that there could be something wrong with him?" spoke Ron after Harry finished talking.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"Maybe he's a little obsessed with You-Know-Who. Maybe he wants to be like the wizard?"

"You-Know-Who's gone, Ron. There probably _are_ other wizards who want to follow in his footsteps. They're called _Death Eaters_. I highly doubt that Professor Webster is a Death Eater. He works for the Department of Mysteries. They're the ones who help to fight against all the evil wizards and witches," babbled Hermione.

"I don't think Professor Dumbledore would hire-oh, wait-he already hired a Death Eater. Snape," added Harry.

"You're right," agreed Ron.

"I believe that Professor Webster is just trying to prepare us for the future. You never know what can happen then or who may try and destroy the world again," piped Hermione matter-of-factly. "We need to be prepared even if that means learning about those wizards and witches who were evil as boring and pointless as it might sound to you guys."

"I'm going to bed," announced Harry. His empty plate disappeared as did the cup and jug. He pushed himself back from the table and said goodnight to Ron and Hermione.

"You're going to bed already?" questioned Ron. Harry nodded and went up to his dormitory. He changed into his pyjamas and slid himself into his four poster bed. The sheets felt warm and clean, but Harry wasn't tired. It was just his excuse to be alone for awhile. He stared up into the shadowy canopy of this four poster and sighed.

His stomach felt a bit upset. He didn't know why he felt worried. There was nothing to worry about. At least not until exams and exams weren't until the end of the term. Lord Voldemort was gone. Ty was gone. His parents were gone. And the Dursleys were miles away. None of them could harm him. He thought to himself that he should feel relieved; peaceful even. But somehow, Harry felt troubled.

It was everything that Professor Webster had said to him that afternoon that was making his stomach tighten. Harry decided to focus on something else; something positive. Professor Manell had told him to do that once, when things felt they were too much to handle. Harry turned over and caught sight of his Firebolt Xp315. He smiled. A rush of warmth filled his heart and he closed his eyes.


End file.
